


Within Range

by lonekatze



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Developing Friendships, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mental Breakdown, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Apocalypse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Tags May Change, To Be Edited, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-02-07 13:17:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18621406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonekatze/pseuds/lonekatze
Summary: (HIATUS! Taking a serious break. Work under process of rewriting.)Two centuries passed. A loving husband dead. Her only son lost. Amelia, the sole survivor of Vault 111, wakes up to her Massachusetts turned wasteland Commonwealth.Her goal was to find her baby, and she would go through all opportunities laid down to her to make that happen. Even hiring MacCready, a mercenary with a job to keep her safe. His goal, on the other hand, was to make caps.Two people with different objectives and principles. Would they handle whatever kind of relationship spur between them without straying from their goals?





	1. End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> This work would still undergo editing as long as it's not yet completed. Rest assured that the story will not be changed. Any suggestions to further improve this work will be deeply appreciated!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out book cover [here](https://imgur.com/U8Hmmt8)!

_Breathe._

The lone woman had awakened from her long slumber. Her eyes popped open as she gasped alongside the automated opening of her pod. Her limp body has been thawed out of ice, followed by her collapse onto the cold concrete floor. She let out coughing fits as she struggled to move her joints. Her stay inside the cryopod has been terribly long, like a forgotten piece of meat in the very end of a freezer. Chills crawled all over her body as it tried to absorb the slightest trace of heat from the floor, her fingers twitching with efforts to shed frost out of its skin. Then, she remembered what happened to her family. Her husband. Her baby.

"Oh god, Nate..."

She gathered all the physical strength she could to stand up in front of her husband’s cryopod. The glass was frosted, rendering it impossible to peek inside. She badly prayed to whatever god was out there that everything she saw was just a very bad dream. With one pull of the lever from the control panel, the cryopod opened. There lied in front of her, his cold lifeless body. The man she loves. The man she has given herself to. The man she was supposed to have a future with. The man she should have been with for the rest of her life. Now gone. Everything was real. Shot dead by a stranger. Took their only child. Got rid of her dreams.

"No, Nate. No, no," she sobbed as she touched the face she used to caress every day, bitten with frost to the very core. Frozen and deceased. Her fingertips cannot even get a slight feel of her husband's growing beard. Stingy. Too damn cold. They were supposed to shave it the next day. But then, the bombs fell. Everything came back to her, from how they ran for their lives to save themselves from nuclear devastation to how she had lost her son and husband in the hands of mysterious figures.

Neighbors. There might still be a chance that they’re alive. She hovered onto each cryopod, knocking through glass windows and trying each of their lever. Every time she did, there would only be a buzz. No signs of breathing either. Some faces were familiar, although she wasn’t able to memorize their names before. She already felt like the most awful neighbor in existence: can’t remember names, can’t even save them from this doom. It was just at that moment when she noticed the announcement which had been looping since she stepped out of her pod:

“Critical failure in Cryogenic Array. All vault residents must vacate immediately.”

Her knees started to tremble, sliding into a kneel on the floor. Her heart paced in an abnormally faster rate, and breathing had become difficult. She pounded her fists on the floor, “Vault-Tec was supposed to protect us!” Were they not valued as human beings by the ruthless people behind it? Everyone was just trying to survive. No one signed up for this kind of tragedy, especially with their family around. Especially with her infant child. She did not cease from crying, but there was an additional burden from being ran out of oxygen in her lungs and feeling sick in the stomach.

_I have to stand up. I have to get out of this hellhole, but how can I without Nate?_

She stayed in a fetal position, her mind clouded with anxious thoughts. It all happened so fast. God, she almost died. There were desperate gasps for air and another. Her throat was sour as she tried to force the vomit out of her system. The attack was causing her to become lightheaded, along with the heavy rhythm in her chest. Took her a while to recover and lift her legs to walk. She had to fight it by herself. Alone. Without her husband. She carefully slid the wedding ring off of Nate's brittle hand, wore it around her thumb, closed his pod, and left the room in hopes of finding freedom and her son Shaun.

 

* * *

 

_"Slip your lovely hands down a bit on the grip. Hold it tight," Nate instructed as he caressed her hand to how he instructed it to be._

_"I'm just trying to be careful. Might fall off of my hands and land on my sun-kissed toes," she jokingly said as she cuddled on him. He responded with a chuckle then wrapped his arms around her waist, assisting her stance. The woman pressed on the BB gun's trigger, her eyes squinting out of surprise from the recoil it made. She was able to shoot the lonely bottle which was a few meters away from them, with the beautiful ocean overlooking the target. Nate expressed his pride by carrying her by her waist and twirling his beautiful wife in her coral summer dress._

_He kissed her forehead as he put her down, "You are such a wonder."_

_"Oh you know I learned from the best," she replied with a nuzzle on his nose. "I do hope I chuck a reward from my job well done, Cap'n." This caused a sly smirk on Nate's lips as he bridal carried his lady into their beach cottage. Giggles and the ocean breeze filled the summer air._

She snapped into reality after the exit door slid open. Two more giant cockroaches (which she thought would have been result of the radiation from the bombs) surprised her, but thankfully her reflexes were faster. With a pull of a trigger, the pests were squashed by the bullets, disgusting goo splattered on the concrete floor. If Nate was alive, would he feel horrified as well? Would he have been proud of her shot? Behind the dead cockroaches was another skeleton- and she was becoming depressed from the similar sights of it around the vault- of which seemed like one of the vault’s scientists given its lab coat. She asked herself if anyone was ever alive, and if anyone ever managed to escape before her. Hell, she wasn’t even sure if escape was an option in the first place. She scanned the area for rations and other resources with the pistol ready in between her clasp. The extra vault suit caught by her sight was shoved quick into a backpack she salvaged from one of the lockers that came along with the Vault 111 shirt and some pair of jeans. A box of bobby pins was also kept in hopes of taming her clammy hair later.

There was a platform by the edge. Another skeleton, as well. She suppressed a sigh before reaching on the device called a Pip-Boy, wore it around her left wrist. Flipping on its switch while hoping for the best, she was relieved to see all the codes flow and the welcoming message appear. She even wiped the screen with her thumb to witness the mascot Vault Boy do his usual pose of thumbs up, along with the Pip-Boy’s reading of her vitals. Somehow she has enough knowledge in such because, although she studied law, she was very much interested in science.

She stood in front of the vault door control panel. It did not seem to be activated, so she fumbled for any adapter present on the worn device, hoping that it would help her gain access over the control panel. Her fingers easily pulled a concealed adapter from the back of the Pip-Boy, and while hoping for it to work, she carefully inserted it in the port's socket. Bingo. The lid flipped up to reveal the vault door’s button. She jammed her fist onto it. Sirens blared along a new announcement:

“Vault door cycling sequence initiated. Please stand back.”

A giant machinery allowed itself to hinge onto the gear-shaped door while pulling it aside to reveal the exit. Light beamed, then a metal bridge unfolded, the same bridge which they stepped onto when the bombs fell. ‘If Nate was here, he would have called me a nerd,’ she thought in sorrow.

The woman in blue and yellow jumpsuit stopped at her tracks to take a good long look on her Pip-Boy. Might as well register her name in it for ownership... or for ID just in case something wrong happens to her as soon as she got out to the surface. Out of context yet civilized ideas. Her index finger glided over the Pip-Boy's touch keyboard as she typed:

**Amelia Langley Williams.**

At the back of her mind, she could hear her husband whispering her married name. She slapped her cheeks to wake herself up in reality. "Get yourself together," she mumbled. Amelia left the vault aboard a lift, her backpack slung on her left shoulder while armed with nothing but a 10mm pistol, a police baton, and the memory of her lost family.

 

* * *

 

Goodneighbor is a little town situated inside the chaotic ruins of downtown Boston. People of all sorts of race and status were welcome inside it. It was like every other thriving town present in the post-war Commonwealth; it was filled with shops that cater different kinds of weapons to all sorts of reusable scraps one could imagine, a bar for spending cash and good times, a hotel worn out by time yet still suitable for lounging, and a pre-war landmark which was the Old State House. It was also governed by a mayor named Hancock. His physical appearance was now inhuman. He and his kind has been labeled as ghouls: human inside, yet a radioactive product outside. However, the people knew that he was still capable of ruling their town.

The mayor has always been noticeable because of the tricorn hat he sported. Hell, even the drifters would recognize his importance to this town. Every being respected his presence, including the ghoulish bouncer of Goodneighbor's bar, The Third Rail. Hancock descended the stairs which revealed a place that will make do for entertainment and drunkenness built in a pre-war metro station, ambience kept by hanging lights, candles, and the arousing voice of the songstress in a shiny red dress. The visitors of the bar greeted him with lifted liquor bottles. Though he showed appreciation, the mayor refused to drink. He seemed to have a particular objective in mind. As he caught glance with the songstress known as Magnolia, he delivered a flying kiss, a bow, and commended her for another spectacular performance. Magnolia was flattered with the gesture and continued singing with more passion. Hancock directed his feet to a room with a VIP-plastered plywood sign on top of the doorway. Humming was heard from the inside, tune mimicked Magnolia's singing.

"Hey kid," he called out while leaning on the wall in front of the man humming. The guy Hancock approached was swirling a glass half-filled with whiskey using his first three fingers while the other hand laid on the armrest of the couch he was sitting on. "No clients for the day?"

The man was wearing a tan duster which had surely seen its good days: dirty, torn at the front, damaged tail, and held tight onto his body with a shoulder strap and a belt. Perhaps the most noticeable color from his outfit would be green, starting from his custom utility cap to his sleeves, scarf and army pants. He downed his whiskey before shaking his head with a bitter expression in his face as a response. He was a freelance mercenary- excellent in accurate shooting, yet business has been dormant recently.

Hancock crossed his arms, "Let me guess... Gunners cockblocking?" The merc smirked from the word which he admitted was childish of him, but there was no denying the truth: the brutal faction which he once belonged to was interfering with his game. His lips turned up upon remembering the sickening faces of the bastards who run the group.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to piss you off. In fact, I have a job for you." Hancock casually threw a small sack full of bottle caps- their currency at the time- over the mercenary who caught it precisely by one hand.

The mayor stopped at the doorway before leaving for the merc's confirmation, "Whatd'ya say? You up for it, MacCready?"

He accepted the payment, placed his empty glass on the nightstand beside his couch, and slung his sniper rifle on himself.

"Let's get this show on the road."

 

* * *

 

It has been a huge miracle for the vault woman to survive the post-apocalyptic Commonwealth. She was lucky to not yet turn insane from all the weird animals and brutal people she had encountered along the way. Reunited with her trusty Mr. Handy named Codsworth back at Sanctuary Hills, fought a group of raiders which was a hell of a wild ride, wore a salvaged power armor and carried a minigun to bring down a giant lizard called a Deathclaw, almost got killed in the process, resettled the survivors from Concord in her village, found a friend in the Minuteman named Preston Garvey, and accepted whatever chance, no matter how crazy it seemed, just to get her son Shaun back. By crazy, she meant pseudoscience crazy: fortune-telling.

Mama Murphy, one of the survivors she assisted from Concord, told her about "The Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth." More information was disclosed when she gave the old woman Jet, not knowing that it was chem at that time. She did feel guilty afterwards, and made a mental promise to distinguish between meds and chems of the current era. Mama Murphy said something about a bright heart leading to her boy. Sketchy, but it was the only opportunity given to her. The radio she listened to while on the road called Diamond City Radio also served as her guide.

A woman in red coat and messenger's cap who indirectly introduced herself as a reporter granted her passage inside. It was her reward for 'helping' her regain her right for entrance in Diamond City. Well, not exactly a reward since in exchange, she had to participate in an interview. Apparently, she- or Piper was her name, according to the guard from the intercom- had serious issues with the mayor's handling of certain situations in the city, which Amelia chose not to poke into. She clearly had a priority at the moment.

Along the interview, Piper kept on calling her "Blue" because she was a vault dweller, given away by her vault suit and obvious vulnerability. The reporter was good at her thing that Amelia was not anymore aware of her emotional answers to the questions. She talked to Piper like she was a friend she needed to vent into. Piper fulfilled the duty with no hesitations. She even gave Amelia a warm hug after seeing her tear up from talking about her lost son. Piper sympathized. Said that Amelia's son was not the only person who had been missing. Agitated that their city mayor did nothing to resolve this terror. It reminded Amelia of corruption within the government during her times (and boy, did it feel unnatural admitting that she was more than 200 years old). Driven by her compassion for the others with the same situation, she promised to lend a hand as long as Piper gives hints to where she could seek help for her own problem.

"For the meantime, let's get you a doctor," Piper offered. Ah right, she had a wound susceptible for infection. Forgot about it since the loss of her son felt more painful at the time. The reporter escorted Amelia to the local clinic and introduced her to Doctor Sun.

 

* * *

 

MacCready was almost finished with the errand in Diamond City Hancock payed him for. It did not involve killing; just a delivery needed to be brought to the right person. He understood the task since Hancock was a ghoul, and ghouls- although civilized and not feral- are not allowed to enter the city alongside other forms of what the city called 'monstrosities'. It wasn't much, but it was better to keep his caps running. He shook the hand of the client as a sign of a deal accomplished. "Hancock told me you're exceptional. Indeed you are, and I'll be sure to endorse you around. Of course, as a mercenary and not anymore a courier," the client promised. The merc thanked him with a nod and just like that, their business had ended.

He was about to peacefully depart when he saw Piper briskly walking back to her home. She seemed lively today, which was a surprise since he was used to seeing her eyebrows furrowed almost all the time. He wanted a bit of a good time, so he pinned his arm on the wall of her home. Since Piper was busy reading her drafts, she did not notice MacCready's arm and bumped her forehead on it. Her papers fell down to the ground along with the misplacement of her cap. She stared at the merc in disbelief as she readjusted her headwear, "Way to go, MacCready."

He may be an as- butt sometimes, but he could be a gentleman. He helped Piper pick up her drafts and handed it to her, to which she swiftly swiped away from his hands. "So, Piper, when are we going to have that one-on-one interview?" he teased. Piper snorted, "Oh MacCready. Never in a million years." MacCready cocked a brow to tease more, but he was answered with an eye roll. "Besides, I got a big scoop that was a lot of reasons better than yours," she added as a comeback.

He let his ego run his mouth, "What story could be better than the Commonwealth's best sniper?"

"A vault dweller out of time," she answered with stars sparkling from her eyes.

MacCready did not quite follow. "Eh, nothing special about mungos." He knew one vault dweller, back when he was a kid in Capitol Wasteland. A mungo that person was, but a hero he would absolutely have his son to look up to.

"Mungo?" He mentally kicked himself for the immature word, but Piper thankfully did not ask more about it. "Suit yourself. I won't spoil a good story."

She did not give any more defense. Told herself that he'll just have to read the papers soon if he really needed an answer. She shooed MacCready away from her home's entrance and slammed the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first shot at creating a fan-fiction work. My favorite MacCready/Female Sole Survivor work is Pazlet's Crossfire! I love how she portrayed the merc in her story. It felt so real. Check her work out: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370173
> 
> Comments, suggestions, and other sorts of criticism are also welcome. Editors are also welcome. I want to improve my work (and my writing since English is not my native language). Thank you!


	2. Company

Piper led her to the person who could help Amelia with her missing son. As deranged as it seemed, Mama Murphy’s vision of a bright heart was real. It was the glowing symbol of the Valentine Detective Agency sign. _This wasn’t a coincidence._ Unfortunately, the detective was not around, according to the secretary Ellie Perkins. Ironic how an investigator would be contracted missing while working in a case. Amelia wanted to walk away, but the detective was her best shot at the time. From the way Ms. Perkins talked about how he was handling his current assignment, he seemed like the type to engage immediately despite the risks instead of just sitting in his desk to think.

“Nick should be easy to spot. He’s always wearing that old hat and trench coat getup.” Huh. Like the typical detective Amelia used to watch in television shows. “Please, hurry,” Ellie begged. She too was in a hurry to have at least a clue about her son. The secretary gave her directions to Park Street Station. Amelia used to know every corner of Boston, Massachusetts like the back of her hand, but her 200 year-sleep messed up with her spatial memory.

After the rescue operation of the detective which, to her surprise, was a synth called Nick Valentine, she was invited to finally sit in his office for questioning regarding Shaun. Ellie gave her caps and a similar detective outfit as reward for when she wanted to tag along in some of his cases. Amelia did not say anything; she would probably think about it first. _Shaun is the priority._

Nick was not an exception to the strangers who personally witnessed Amelia’s emotional vulnerability. She expressed mixed feelings of anger, sadness, and despair as she told her story. The synth detective, in hopes of making her feel better, gave her a potential suspect named Kellogg but he convinced her to make a quick stop at the clinic and rest in an inn first. He insisted that she had to be in her best condition before facing the man.

Amelia complied with the detective’s request in a heartbeat. _If that’s what it takes to see Shaun._ The injected Stimpak made her lethargic, so she rented a room in Dugout Inn. The next morning, the Bobrov brothers who were the inn owners served her Brahmin steak for breakfast. “That’s on the house!” She was the current talk of the town- a celebrity- thanks to Piper's prints. After eating, she saw a Port-A-Diner near the inn's doorway. She had an urge to try her luck in it. Besides, the pie inside was perfectly preserved. Seemed tempting to eat. Amelia activated the vending machine and maneuvered the claw to the pie. She got pumped up when the plate was picked up, but a side of it dropped, returning the plate to its place. She was never confident of claw machines. Made her miss Nate. He was good in those, and was too sweet to persevere just so he could give her the prize.

"Hey," a deep voice brought her back to her senses. Amelia looked up to see a man leaning against the Port-A-Diner. "Pretty bad sitch you got there." The stranger eyed her bandaged arm. She retracted her arm to save herself from embarrassment. He must have thought of her as weak and helpless. As much as possible, Amelia didn’t want to be seen that way. She didn’t want to be taken advantage of, not when she still has a reason to keep living. "Might want a hired gun. I know someone from Goodneighbor. The best in his field."

 _A gun for hire? Like a bodyguard?_ She never had that in mind, but would it be a great idea?

"Head over The Third Rail in Goodneighbor if you're interested. Name's MacCready. You'll find him there. Won't regret betting your caps on him," the drifter finished as he fished out a piece of paper from his pants' pocket. She took it as it was handed to her. It was a map containing directions of getting there from Diamond City. Hopefully, a safe route. Before she even got a chance to recognize the man, he already walked towards the front door.

 

* * *

 

MacCready was drowning himself again with liquor in The Third Rail. He sat on the bar, asking for another pour of whiskey from the Mr. Handy barkeep named Whitechapel Charlie. It was unique from the other models one can encounter in the wasteland because hell, he won't hurt you with his robotic arms but with his foul pre-War British language delivered in a roasting Cockney accent. He had just accomplished the Mr. Handy's job for him, got paid for it (though it went straight to his tabs), yet again back to inactivity. He couldn't help but grit his teeth in frustration. Those  _sons of a bitches_  (he let this one slide) were just that determined in ruining his career.

Absolutely regretted that decision. He was young. Maybe too confident, as well. Was dying to have the money for his family. The Gunners, he once saw as a godly opportunity for caps, but was actually a gut punch to his dignity and integrity. He never cared for life principles if it wasn't for his late wife Lucy’s reprimands. Certainly an angel in the damned wasteland, compared to him who was absolute garbage. Made him rethink his way of living, especially when he knew his son Duncan has half of his foot in the grave. Damn. He missed them. Really bad.

He hopped out of the stool with a full whiskey bottle at hand and returned to the backroom. Magnolia's voice was the only thing keeping him from thrashing around the place. Got to credit her for that. He pulled a stick from his cigarette pack, lit it with his rusty lighter. It was at that moment he knew that he desperately needed the good ol' nicotine kick to calm his nerves.

_Guess I'll have to wait for side jobs from Hancock again._

 

* * *

 

"Kid, you're spacing out."

"Huh, what?" Amelia ceased from walking.

"How are you holding up?" The synth detective, Nick Valentine, placed his metal hand on Amelia's shoulder. She couldn't stop staring at the brain augmenter, now wrapped in plastic, that they have recovered from Kellogg's head. She shrugged. Of course she was not okay. She just had a breakdown after killing that bastard. Spent a long time wailing before leaving Fort Hagen. Kellogg told her about Shaun- that he had gone a little older.

She wiped her teary eyes with her finger, "I wasn't able to be there for my child. I didn't see his first steps, didn't hear his first words... It feels so awful. I'm his mother."

Nick gave her a gentle pat in the back as they continued their pace, "Hey, chin up. I know the night just got darker, but it can't last forever.”  _Wise words._  It crept a small smile from Amelia's lips. “Sure, it feels like a shot in the heart, but this case isn’t closed. Not while I’m on it."

The synth detective accompanied her back to Sanctuary Hills. They parted ways at the bridge before the settlement's entrance. A tall man- a Minuteman- was on watch at that time. He approached her as she appeared down in the dumps.

"General Williams," he greeted with a tip of his iconic hat. Ever since she helped their group resettle, she had been given that title. Said she deserved it because she wasn't as selfish as the others in the wasteland. Claimed to be a perfect model of the Minutemen. She waved her hand to dismiss the label, especially her surname from her deceased husband. She did not need to be reminded about his death. "Please, Preston. Just call me by my first name."

"Any news with your lost son?" This obviously was a bad question from Preston since it made her frown much more. She faintly nodded, resisting the urge to cry again. When a tear crossed her left cheek, she could not help but embrace the Minuteman's arm. He allowed the gesture. He knew how bad a loss felt. He remembered the Quincy massacre. He remembered how he failed his people. The dark pit was still in his stomach; in fact, it never left. The least he could do at the moment was to keep quiet and to bring his friend back to her abode.

Amelia locked herself inside her original house in Sanctuary Hills. It wasn't in its usual shape when she returned to the place after resurfacing, but with the help of her robot butler Codsworth and Preston, they somehow made it a place she could still call home. A dog she had adopted from Red Rocket Station, Dogmeat, helped put herself into ease through snuggling on her leg. Definitely a man's best friend.

"Mum, would you like me to help you tidy up before bed?" Codsworth offered as he collected her used dinner plate from the dining table. She flashed a faint smile with slow blinks from her puffy eyes, appreciating the suggestion. The Mr. Handy went ahead to collect pails of water for her bath. She gathered a sleepwear and a bar of soap from her backpack, then placed those on a stool beside the tub.

Amelia gazed on her reflection. She even wiped the dust from the bathroom mirror to take a clearer look. Her natural black hair had become frizzy from the wasteland's atmosphere. Her protruding eyes had gone bloodshot, eyelids puffy from crying too much. Her smooth face was covered with grime and sebum. She was caught back by a memory of her husband. They used to have dinner dates before he was deployed to Anchorage, Alaska for service. There was this one time they were in an Italian restaurant. She got marinara sauce all over her face from sloppy eating. She was worried back then that Nate would be turned off. What she didn't expect was for Nate to kiss her cheek and playfully lick some sauce out of her face. She remembered when the love of her life assured her that she would always be the prettiest gal in his eyes, even with whatever stain present on her face.

Codsworth filled her tub with clean water. The butler had it filtered before pouring it for her own use. After the nice bath, she wore her blue long-sleeved nightgown as the Mr. Handy butler fixed her hair, bringing back her nicely coiffed curls. He even presented her a satin white ribbon, a finishing look for her hair. Her curls dangled on her shoulders, brushing softly onto her nightgown’s fabric.

"Thank you, Codsworth," she whispered to the butler to which it replied, "Anything for you, mum."

She had a comfortable sleep from being freshly bathed the previous night. No nightmares nor dreams. It was a knock from her front door which pushed her to stand up. Codsworth asked if she would prefer him to handle the visitor, but she insisted that she would do it. The butler continued preparing her coffee as Amelia carefully opened the door. Not another settler asking for help.  _Thank goodness_. It was Preston Garvey.

"Good morning, General. Just checking up on you," he greeted with a grin. "You look lovely today."

Her cheeks turned red from the compliment. She hopped onto the Minuteman to give him a big hug. Preston gladly returned it, delighted to see his leader at a positive state. It was her smile which pursued him to keep fighting. That everything would eventually be okay. He wondered how many more people would have their lives turned to the bright side with the General around.

Amelia broke the embrace and tidied the wrinkles off her nightgown, "Would you like to drink coffee with me?"

Preston politely refused, "I'm fine. Seeing you okay is enough to keep me and the people going. Still have to finish my patrolling. Approach me later when you're ready to head out and help some settlements." Amelia wished him good luck and gently closed the door. She spread open the curtains of her window for the sunlight to enter the living room.

After having coffee and heated Pork and Beans for breakfast, she changed into standard Minutemen outfit with a few protective attachments around her limbs, then met with Preston to come to the aid of settlements in need. She was not the type to dive into trouble, but she knew that she wasn't the only one suffering in this barren world. Helping them out would be a great way to adjust and to distract herself from the bad things which inevitably happen, much like what her husband did when he was in the army. Nate taught her that nothing is wrong with lending a hand to another, because it is through giving that life improves, not through taking. One of the many reasons she fell in love with him.

While almost two weeks on the move, Preston was relieved to see the settlements they have helped become interested in joining the Minutemen. All of those would not have been possible if it wasn't for Amelia's diplomatic approach and fierce intimidation towards the terrorizing raiders. She did her best to satisfy the people's needs, ultimately gaining their trust. After a long day of distributing tasks between settlers in County Crossing, the duo took a break and sat on the ground around the bonfire. There was silence in between them, probably out of exhaustion.

Suddenly, Amelia cleared her throat. She was ready to open up about what happened in Fort Hagen, "Preston, I killed my Shaun’s kidnapper."

The Minuteman was not surprised. He knew that this was bound to happen, and he could not blame her for it. “Were you able to find your son?”

“No, but I know who is running this whole operation.”

 _Operation?_  The word seemed pretty heavy for Preston. He raised both of his brows as a gesture for letting the General continue her statement. Amelia took a minute to stare at the flames before speaking.

“The Institute.”

“Oh hell.” An audible gulp was heard from Preston. He could not process how this situation of a lost son turned out to be even worse than it already was. “I’ve heard some bad things about the Institute, but kidnapping babies now… damn.”

She tried to smile but in anguish, “He’s actually not a baby anymore. Kellogg told me that a few years had passed, and Shaun's already grown.”

Preston fixed his eyes onto the bonfire, similar to what the woman beside him was doing. “Damn. I-I’m sorry. I hope you find him. Soon,” he emphasized the last word. “Let me know if there’s any way I can help, General.”

Amelia shifted the arrangement of her legs laid on the ground, as if bringing back her composure, “I also plan on hiring an extra gun.”

The Minuteman shot her a confused look. "What for?"

"I… I don’t want to die yet. I just wanted to be sure.” Her fingers interlaced each other. To her, it felt like Preston Garvey was someone she would not regret trusting. The man had been genuine to her. He had at least the right to know.

"General, you do know that mercenaries are after your caps, right? They will do their job as long as they receive their price, but they will not guarantee your safety in the long run, especially when you run out of payment for them." He took a short pause and returned his gaze at the flames. Whenever he heard the word ‘mercenary’, he could not help but think of the Gunners.  _Ruthless killers._  Not a single trace of good karma from them after his first-hand experience in the Quincy tragedy. "You don't need them. I'm here to help."

"I did not ask for your approval, Preston." Amelia firmly said. She quickly regretted making that tone over someone who did nothing but to show care for her. Not like she would stumble upon another good soul in this cruel wasteland. "You’re my friend. I don't know what I'll do if something happens to you. Besides, the people need you. The Minutemen needs you." Her words were sincere. She could not bear losing more people that mattered, or else the remaining screws handling her sanity would be completely loose.

She heard a sigh from him, "Your call, but when the bastard failed to protect you, he will have to answer to me. He will have to answer to all of us."

Her hands adjusted the Minuteman's hat then flashed him a gentle smile, "Thank you, Preston. Don't worry, I'll think about it more."

"Anything for you, Amelia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, suggestions, and other sorts of criticism are also welcome. Editors are also welcome. I want to improve my work (and my writing since English is not my native language). Thank you!


	3. Raised by the Wastes

"Money-shot at three o'clock," the mercenary in tattered duster murmured as he watched his poorly-armored target through his rifle's scope. He was holed up in the third floor of a ruined building he climbed into. There were large debris from ceilings that have fallen, which made it suitable for cover as his rifle was set on the open hole on the wall. An escape route was also planned beforehand, just in case his location would be discovered. There were beads of sweat forming on his temples. He had been waiting for the right moment.  _Patience._

His dominant eye caught three men approaching his target. They were wearing green shirts, green pants, and camo bandannas. Gunners. Probably hired bodyguards. He tried to examine whether one of them was a former colleague. None. All three seemed to be new recruits. This should be easy for him. 

MacCready took a deep breath and slowly exhaled after pressing on the trigger, aligning his shot on the target's head. Success. The hired Gunners had become alert from witnessing their client drop dead. One of them was about to pull his weapon from his holster. Wrong move. "Should have taken cover first, dummy," MacCready sneered as his bullet penetrated the dumb Gunner's forehead. The other two were able to take cover, with one giving away his location because of his military cap peeping out. _Bunch of idiots._ His shot made the idiot Gunner's cap catapult to the air as he collapsed on the ground, creating a pool of blood. 

The only Gunner left started to sprint away from his hiding spot. MacCready had the intention of crippling him. The bullet pierced through the back of his target's leg, but the Gunner was determined to get out of the place. Guess he would have to let that one go to send a message to the faction not to mess with him.

The satisfied mercenary ventured south going to Bunker Hill where he would receive his payment. An old man in a black suit was waiting for him just outside the gates. Their transaction was quiet; it was the usual order of handing caps, shaking hands, then parting ways. He felt relieved knowing that he would be able to stock himself with a pack of cigarettes. Maybe pay another part of his tab to Whitechapel Charlie, too. 

 _But first, a celebratory drink._  MacCready entered the fortified settlement to chug a bottle or two- actually, make it three- of Gwinnett Lager.

 

* * *

 

The sun was barely out the following morning, but Amelia fetched Nick Valentine without delay from his office. Both stayed inside Piper’s home to talk about their next move in finding Shaun. It had something to do with the cybernetic thing Amelia looted from Kellogg’s head. Something about repurposing his memories for possible clues. It was a weight out of the vault woman’s chest, but she admitted that she still needed more time to prepare for what would happen next.

Afterwards, Piper assisted her to the mayor's office. Amelia had plans of buying a place where she could reside in the city and where she could potentially keep the stuff she bought from the market. It was easier to travel light- of course, excluding the junk she would collect on the way. A part of her also confessed that she wanted a place where she would not be bombarded with the responsibilities of being the Minutemen's General every single day. Upon arrival, the mayor's secretary immediately shot an unwelcoming gaze over Piper, as if in her mind, she was pushing the reporter away from the platform they were standing on. Amelia tried to talk Piper into not causing trouble since she badly wanted the available lot.

"The Home Plate would be 2,000 caps." The stern tone in the voice of the secretary named Geneva gave the vault woman a signal that bargaining was not an option. Amelia pinched on every cap available in her pack, poured those inside a big sack, and placed it on the desk between the two of them. The secretary plucked a ring with a set of keys from her drawer, along with a neat sheet of paper which was the contract. "Please sign this document first." 

She grabbed the pen, read on the terms and agreements, and wrote her signature above her married name. Glancing back at her surname ‘Williams’, she felt nothing but nostalgia. Reminded her of when she and Nate bought their house in Sanctuary Hills. Geneva filed the signed contract in her file cabinet and slid the keys to Amelia, “Here’s the key. Let me be the first to welcome you as a resident of the Great, Green Jewel.” 

While the two women were on their way to Home Plate, Piper could not help but rant about the secretary which she suspected of being a synth too alongside Mayor McDonough. To her, it was a possible reason as to why there were no efforts taken to the multiple cases of missing people. She accused both of being the eyes of the Institute, and wondered if all Diamond City citizens were already part of some sort of experimental simulation both suspects had planned. Amelia stayed silent throughout her talks. Piper knew she was listening, but her mind was probably in her son. Nick and Blue spilled her the beans earlier, that the Institute was primarily responsible for the loss of her child. That Kellogg was just a pawn in the problem. _God knows what the Institute could be doing to her kid._ She bit the inside of her cheek out of frustration until they have entered Home Plate.

All was well when they started to clean the place. Modifications Amelia ordered were also coming one by one. They were almost done setting up pieces of furniture for the living room when Piper blurted something out of the blue, “It's unfair. You have been through so much in such a short time. I can only imagine how difficult it is to adapt to this new world you have woken up to while following your lost son's footsteps.” 

Amelia wiped the sweat from her forehead using her arm, and stood beside her friend who was leaning on the wall. Piper had her eyes set on the wooden floor. "I'm so sorry, Blue. I wish I could do more than making prints." 

Amelia pulled her into a gentle hug, which Piper willingly returned. "You don't have to be sorry. You're already doing your best." The vault woman had her thoughts fixed on the image of Shaun when he was newborn, cradled in her arms. She muffled a whimper, "I’ll... I'll make the Institute pay. For my son and for the other lives they took."

 

* * *

 

The crippled Gunner collapsed onto the concrete ground of the elevated freeway. There was a lot of blood from his shot calf staining the bandanna he used to temporarily patch it up. A Gunner conscript assisted him to stand up. He was pale from the blood loss. Medics were called to confine him in their infirmary, but he insisted to talk to his leader, Winlock.

After he had undergone ample time for recovery, a man with deep red hair and an O+ tattoo on his forehead sat down on the chair beside his bed. The same man crossed his leg in a 4-figure and started displaying his pistol beside the bed-ridden Gunner. Its safety was off. 

"What do you have for me?" 

"Winlock, sir," he nervously sat on his bed, "M-my friends were given a clean headshot. Our client, too. Sniper's doing." Winlock did not seem to be paying him attention.

He gulped, "I-I think it's the MacCready guy you were all talking about." 

His leader paused and held firm on his gun, "MacCready?" His hazel eyes locked with the crippled Gunner, finding sincerity in his pupils. No signs of lying. He stood up from the chair and brought back his pistol into his holster. Winlock immediately left the infirmary, talked to the medics, and insisted to see the bullet that wounded his subordinate. 

A .308 round and a single clean headshot on each dead target?  _Well I'll be damned. Definitely that asshole, he confirmed._  He had never worked with anyone who could deliver excellent sniping skills in the Gunners except for MacCready. It was the guy's trademark. Winlock had the urge of crushing the bullet (if only it was possible) from gripping it tightly. He went back to his camp and approached another man with jet black hair and an A+ tattoo on his forehead. 

"Barnes," he called out, capturing the man's attention. "I think we need to pay someone a visit."

 

* * *

 

By noon, the two women had finished setting up Home Plate to Amelia’s preference. What they did was not exactly how it was pictured in the Picket Fences magazine, but it was close enough. Finally, a home away from Sanctuary Hills. From the painful reality of what had happened to her dream of having a family. She thanked Piper for her help and begged her to rest. The companion gave Amelia a friendly hug before saying goodbye, leaving her alone in her newly furnished home. 

The weary Amelia dragged herself to the couch and stared at their work. She knew the house lacked something, but it was at the tip of her tongue. _Ah, flowers._ She was dismayed from being able to buy a ceramic vase from Diamond City Surplus yet no flowers to put in it. Back at her hometown, before she even met Nate, her mother had beautiful purple orchids. Those were her favorite. Sadly, she could not see those around Boston, especially now. There were still flowers, but orchids felt more like home to her. This gave her an idea.

She strutted towards The Super Salon. "Purple, please." The stylist John took his time to delicately brush the color on her strands. After an hour, she was lent a mirror to see her natural black hair laid with purple highlights, curled at shoulder-length ends. It made her smile, knowing that she would be able to welcome a part of her past self to this new world. This way, she would not forget who she was, just in case the wasteland did get in her head.

As soon as she came back to Home Plate, Amelia set up her bathing area. She pushed a big wooden pail which would serve as her tub. She let the container catch all the water flowing from the faucet, and soaked herself in it with her hair tied into a bun. The back of her head leaned onto the pail’s edge as she slowly drifted asleep.

_She opened her eyes. She was back in her cryopod. In front of her was her husband Nate, holding their son Shaun in his arms._

_"He's alive."_

_The mysterious figures, including Kellogg, appeared again. Her heart broke into two. The same scene replayed. The opening of Nate’s cryopod. His resistance to surrender Shaun to them. Kellogg killing him with one shot. Shaun’s abduction. She felt like she was holding her breath for the entire time it all occurred in front of her eyes. She wasn’t able to do anything again. Like what happened in real life, she remained in her locked cryopod. Kellogg took a peek at her window, only this time it was different. He did not call her ‘the back-up’ anymore. Instead, he raised his pistol towards where her head was. The frost was creeping back to her body, as if her cryopod was being activated again. She wanted to fight back but her body was being restrained by ice. “You won’t make it out there, anyway,” Kellogg snickered as he pulled the trigger._

Amelia jolted awake, still naked and in her makeshift tub. Her chest pounded heavily, as if there was a mallet working in it. She was also freezing from the water that had gone cold. She left her tub, desperately reached for her towel, wrapped it around her trembling body, and mounted the stairs to her bedroom. Her cabinet door flung open and just when she was about to reach for something to wear, she saw Kellogg’s leather jacket in the bottom level. There was fear in her eyes upon the sight of his clothing. She remembered her dream. Her nightmare. _He wanted me dead. He expected me to die all along. He knew I won't be able to survive._ The anxiety was climbing up to her head, choking her and twisting her stomach. Suddenly, Amelia felt lost. She did not know what to do.

"I'm so sorry, Nate. I'm so sorry," she whispered in remorse as if her husband's corpse was in front of her. "I failed you. I'm a coward."

She sat on her bed adjacent to her wardrobe and hugged her knees towards her chest. She wanted the painful feeling to go away, so she forced tears from her eyes, hoping that it would push her burdens out of her system. Once her eyes had dried, an urge to fight pulled her from her misery. She reminisced the time Nate supported her while she was pregnant with Shaun. Her husband would send her letters, telling her to be strong. There was also that day he came home as a hero, but he did not give importance to the label and honor he received. He gave all the credit to Amelia for being the true heroine- for saving him from the dark side of himself caused by the war. For blessing him with such a beautiful child.

Suddenly, there was warmth spreading within her body. It felt like there was someone hugging her. She tried to look around. There was nothing. No one. _Maybe it's Nate._ Fighting all by herself would be difficult, but she wanted to prove Kellogg wrong. She wanted to prove that she was not weak despite of her inexperience- that she was worthy of single-handedly killing him.

“I’ll show you, Kellogg,” she muttered with composed determination. She wore Kellogg's leather jacket above a white tank top as a deserved trophy, tied her hair into a ponytail and secured it inside a military cap, attached her belt holster around her hips, then tucked her feet and the bottom hems of her pants inside a pair of brown combat boots. The sun was already setting, but her thirst for retaliation was just beginning.


	4. Gun For Hire

The trip to Goodneighbor was certainly not for the faint of heart. It was hard to find a good spot for cover or rest since it was already dark, and in every corner Amelia tucked herself in, there would always be danger, from raiders to one of the worst creatures one could encounter: the green giants they call Super Mutants. This caused her to hold a grudge to the drifter who gave her the map.  _Did he have something against me? Because he's trying to get me killed._  He would surely receive a hard uppercut from her if they ever cross paths again.

She groaned from the throbbing pain caused by a gunshot on her shoulder. It was the same arm that received the most beatings in the past days, and she was certain that it was still in the process of healing. Her back leaned on the wrecked vehicle she used as cover. “I can’t die yet, goddamn it,” she mentally pressed while struggling to reload her shotgun.

Bright lights reflected from the ground’s puddle had caught her attention. Her tired eyes drifted to the flashing sign. Her lips read, “Goodneighbor." She traced the sign’s arrow downwards to see a wooden door. Hopefully, it wasn’t locked.

“Where are you, you little bitch?!” the raider yelled. She took a brief look from her cover. One raider- furious from Amelia disturbing their hunt- and four more in company. She had to kill them first before they do. Her hands held onto a frag grenade she had inside her pack. She counted in reverse, starting at number three. As she mumbled the number one, her finger pulled the pin from the grenade and threw it over the unsuspecting raiders. Their distance was a little close to her, so she sprinted towards the town’s entrance. Its door swung deliberately, caused her boots to glide onto the wet concrete. She used friction to resist further slipping, then pressed herself on the door to keep it shut. A loud explosion rang around the entire place. Amelia finally had time to catch her breath.

It was late for her to notice the bald man walking towards her direction. She fumbled for her weapon that she dropped on the ground, and pointed it towards him.

“Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbor?”

He was not wearing a guard’s attire- only road leathers- and had this dangerous look in his eyes. Amelia did not drop her gun. She was already tired from all the fighting she did just to get to this town. "Can’t go walking around without insurance,” the man nonchalantly added. She glanced at the man’s backside to see if there was anyone besides him and her. There was one ghoul, a shopkeeper, with both her hands raised up as if there was a gun aimed at her. She shook her head slowly, a nonverbal communication that warned Amelia about the man's twisted intentions. The vault woman returned her sight onto the bald man who was insisting on getting near to her so out of reflex, she reloaded her shotgun, and fired.

His body was thrown down to the ground, blood oozing from his stomach. Her shotgun almost fell from her grasp when the nausea kicked in. The aftermath was an extremely unpleasant sight.

"Whoa ho ho!" Amelia jumped from the astonished interjection. A ghoul fashioned in a red frock coat and a tricorn hat was clapping his hands while slowly approaching her. "I like you already! Walk into a new place, make a show of dominance. Nice!"

She refused to attempt a reply, and held tight onto her shotgun. The ghoul bowed out of respect, "I apologize. Didn't mean to scare a visitor. The name is Hancock. Mayor Hancock. Welcome to Goodneighbor." His arms were raised wide, presenting the town with pride. Amelia kept her silence.

"That's right. Take it all in," the ghoulish mayor said as he slowly wrapped his arm around her shoulder, encouraging her to walk. "I'll show you around."

The people they passed by gave respect to Hancock, proving that he was indeed the mayor of the town. Amelia had regretted doubting him, and had begun talking to him about each place to relax herself. They had a long chat about the Old State House, which was Hancock's favorite part of the tour since he got to take a good long look at the woman who seemed almost pristine despite the sweat, grime, and wounds she had on her body.  _Such a nice view._  Speaking of wounds, he interrupted Amelia from talking to patch her up. He brought her to his office in the Old State House, guarded by a tough woman in a heavy armor which he called Fahrenheit.

"My eyes are up here, sir," Amelia said when she caught Hancock staring at her chest. She had Kellogg's jacket and her armor pieces removed, exposing her torso in a white tank top. She was getting uncomfortable from the perverted ghoul's company. Hancock smirked as he abruptly injected something beside her treated shoulder wound.

A hiss escaped her gritted teeth, "What was that?"

"Stimpak," the mayor replied. She felt a stitching sensation within her wounded arm, intensifying the discomfort she already had. "You might feel drowsy in a while, so let's get you a room in Hotel Rexford."

Amelia refused the offer. She had an agenda for coming into town, and she didn't want to waste the opportunity, "I appreciate the offer, but I'm currently looking for a merc named MacCready."

"Here to do business with him?"

"Yeah, as long as he's worth my caps."

Hancock held his head with one hand and laughed from what Amelia said.  _Was there something funny?_ She crossed her arms below her chest, waiting for the mayor to stop.

"Oh man. If only you knew. He's the best in his job, and I wouldn't recommend anyone else."

That was a relief. At least she knew that the drifter back at Dugout Inn was not playing with her, or else all the effort she exerted in coming to Goodneighbor had been put to waste. Amelia thanked the mayor for his services and headed outside.

The singing from The Third Rail attracted Amelia more to visit the place. It reminded her of pre-war bars, where her husband would invite her to go dancing, and would eventually drive her home to make love with for the rest of the night after a few breathy sessions of holding each other on the dancefloor. Strange how the warmth from reminiscing had a partnered sting to her heart. She knew her intentions of hiring the mercenary, but she could also use a drink.

While she was walking towards the bar, drunk drifters were murmuring about how she was here to hire MacCready. Was that too obvious? She placed herself on a barstool near the songstress wearing a bedazzling red dress. The Mr. Handy barkeep's robotic eye scoped onto Amelia, as if it was eyeing her. “Want a pint, lass? If you're here for Magnolia better drink up. Got no tolerance for free loaders here.”

"The singer?"  _The name fits her, Amelia thought._

The robot- called Whitechapel Charlie by another ordering customer- continued wiping the inside of the pints clean. “Yeah. The flower of the Third Rail. Anything you want to know about her other than that is her business. Now, you gonna order?”

"Sure... I'll buy a drink. Bourbon, please," then she slid a few caps on the counter towards the barkeep.

A glass of her choice of drink was easily prepared by Charlie. "Here's to drownin' sorrows...”

Amelia did not mind how the Mr. Handy found out about her mood.  _If it was obvious, so be it._  It wasn't like all the drifters here came to have a good time. The wasteland had been a big bitch to everyone, anyways. She succumbed herself more to Magnolia's singing before downing her glass of bourbon.

She was already getting sleepy, so she proceeded to the real order of business.

 

* * *

 

One bottle down. MacCready had been keeping himself busy with his favorite poison: whiskey. Hancock did not show up today; it must have meant that he had no work for him. “Maybe tomorrow. I'll just get drunk tonight while I still have a few caps to spare. Screw Charlie,” he thought.

He was about to grab another bottle from the bar outside when heavy footsteps entered his room. Two big men in Gunner uniforms trespassed his lounge. Both had tattoos of their blood type on their forehead: an A+ and an O+.  _Man, they finally came._

"Long time no see," Winlock grinned in grimace. The freelance mercenary made sure his rifle was at the ready, just in case things did not go well. He firmly planted both his feet on the floor, prepared to stand up any time. “Can’t say I’m surprised to find you in a dump like this, MacCready."

“I was wondering how long it would take your bloodhounds to track me down, Winlock," the mercenary said in a cocky tone. “It’s been almost three months… don’t tell me you’re getting rusty.”

The two Gunners had plastered a mean look in their faces. MacCready chuckled from the success of his plan to irritate them, “Should we take this outside?”

“It ain’t like that. I’m just here to deliver a message." Winlock was the only one talking. Barnes chose to remain quiet.

“In case you forgot, I left the Gunners for good.”

“Yeah, I heard. But you’re still taking jobs in the Commonwealth. That isn’t going to work for us.”

MacCready stood up from his feet. He was agitated from how Winlock talked, “I don’t take orders from you… not anymore. So why don’t you take your girlfriend and walk out here while you still can?”

Barnes finally snapped, “What?! Winlock, tell me we don’t have to listen to this shit.”

“Listen up, MacCready," Winlock spat as he planted a foot forward. "The only reason we haven’t filled your body with bullets is that we don’t want a war with Goodneighbor. See, we respect other people’s boundaries… we know how to play the game. It’s something you never learned.”

“Glad to have disappointed you," the mercenary said with a cheeky smile.

Winlock did not seem to be bothered this time. Instead, he snickered. "You can play the tough guy all you want. But if we hear you’re still operating inside Gunner territory, all bets are off. You got that?”

MacCready heard a reload click. He peered his eyes to see a silhouette from the doorway.  _Bastards brought back-up?_  He looked at the two Gunners to check their reaction, but they remained the same. He had to be sure, either way. He eyed his rifle, then attempted to end the useless conversation, "You finished?”

“Yeah, we’re finished," Winlock said with scorn. "Come on, Barnes.”

Both Gunners left the room without a care, even bumping their shoulder over the potential eavesdropper. MacCready settled again in his couch, thirsting over his bottle of whiskey. When he realized that it was already empty, he threw it across the wall, shattering it. He badly wanted to curse after what happened.

The silhouette from before finally decided to enter his room. The person was wearing a military cap which hid most of her hair except for a few strays, a brown leather jacket which looked too cool for her, a navy blue tactical backpack, and a pair of brown combat boots stained with concrete dust. She had her gun out, clutched by her right hand.  _Is she here for trouble, too?_  Since the stranger refused to make the first word, MacCready decided to break the silence with sarcasm, “Look, lady. If you’re preaching about the Atom, or looking for a friend, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

She just looked at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.  _Oh shoot. A client._  He immediately took back his sarcasm, “But if you need a hired gun… then maybe we can talk.”

Her face finally calmed, though it remained neutral. She hastily scanned the room for threats. When everything was clear, she holstered her 10mm pistol, and crossed her arms. “Maybe… Why don’t you tell me who those guys were first,” she said while making a pointing gesture with her thumb.  _Building trust, huh._

“They’re just a couple of morons looking to climb the ladder of success by stepping on everyone else on the way up,” MacCready answered with a bitter taste in his mouth. “You shouldn’t be surprised though, that’s how it goes when you run with the Gunners. One of the biggest gangs in the Commonwealth. Got a rep for being crazy… you know, so tightly wound, you’d think they were a cult or something.” That’s right. She should learn not to make business deals with them- that he was the better option. “Stuck with them for a while ‘cause the money was good, but I never fit in. That’s why I made a clean break and started flying solo. Had always been best this way for me.”

The woman was holding her chin, and while he explained, she was nodding her head to show him she understood. One thing he disliked from clients was how they not talk back when he was speaking to them. Made him look stupid. He licked his upper lip before speaking again, his patience being tested, “Now, what about you? How do I know I won’t end up with a bullet in my back?”

She placed her hands on her hips as she examined him once again with squinted eyes, “You don’t. That’s part of the risk, right?”

 _Point taken._  “Can’t argue with that.” The mercenary stood up from his couch and created a professional distance between him and the client. “I’ll tell you what. Price is 250 caps… up front. And there’s no room for bargaining. What do you say?”

“Seriously? Everything is negotiable. 200 caps,” she said with an unyielding tone while laying her hand in between them, preparing for a handshake. Better than none, thought MacCready.

“You drive a hard bargain, but you just bought yourself an extra gun. MacCready, by the way,” he introduced as he shook her hand.

“Amelia.”

After releasing both of their hands, he turned back to quickly wear his bandoliers and his rifle around his body. “All right, boss. Let’s get out of here-”

Then, a thump on the floor. His boss passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if it took 3 chapters just for them to meet. I didn't want to rush it, and I wanted the readers to have a separate look at their lives before they come across each other. I also considered readers who weren't Fallout 4 players, hence some details laid out that we already know. The original scene from the gameplay was also used, and expect the following chapters to extract some of MacCready's lines in-game!
> 
> Suggestions, comments, and other sorts of reactions are welcome! Thank you for reading!


	5. The Feeble and the Brave

Amelia was awakened by the light blinding her eyes. ‘That was odd,’ she thought. She was supposed to be underground, in The Third Rail. The realization shocked her awake, where she had found herself covered in a blanket while laid on a mattress inside a worn-out hotel. “Where the hell am I?” Her jacket- formerly Kellogg’s- and armor pieces were neatly placed on the surface of the wardrobe across her, which meant that she was only wearing her tank top alongside her pants.

She got out of bed to find her boots and her pack. While she was looking for her stuff, she noticed a man on the couch. He was asleep with his utility cap covering his face. She could not identify him, causing panic to surge throughout her body. Amelia quickly wore her leather jacket, and fastened her armor and holster around her. Her backpack was set in between her feet. She shakily grabbed her pistol, reloading it. The reloading click roused the man, his hand lifting the cap off his face. Her pistol’s barrel was pointed over him, “Who the hell are you and where am I?”

The man, still groggy, pulled himself to sit up on the couch. His elbows propped on his thighs while he roughly rubbed his face with one hand. Definitely pissed off. He grunted, “You hired me to be your extra gun, not your babysitter. And you repay me with this?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just,” he obviously had enough of Amelia’s ignorance, “Put the fricking gun down, **boss.** ”

She heard that word before. Just recently. “Oh,” she breathed out in a feeble tone. The mercenary from last night. “MacCready, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god… I’m so sorry.”

“You should be,” the merc annoyingly replied as he lowered Amelia's gun with his hand. “Brought you here since you passed out. Don’t know if you were wasted. Should’ve at least thanked me.” Amelia questioned the word ‘wasted’ since as far as she could remember, she wasn’t. She only had one drink last night. Could be fatigue and the Stimpak. The med always made her sleepy. But she didn't bother explaining herself to the mercenary.

While tying the laces of his boots, MacCready tried to brush off his irritation. He had to extend his tolerance over his client since this was just their first morning working together, or else he would completely lose it, putting his business deal with her into jeopardy.

“Thanks,” Amelia awkwardly said.

MacCready smirked, “Oh, it wasn’t free. Additional 50 caps for the babysitting work.” That way, his original price of 250 caps would still be followed.

Amelia extracted a small sack from her backpack and threw it over him, “Okay. Here’s your caps.” The mercenary immediately opened it and counted each cap inside. The clinking sounds brought him excitement. It was what’s driving him. It was his very reason for being here in the Commonwealth. However, upon checking that the caps were not enough, his smiling lips turned flat, “This is just the 200 from last night.”

“That’s all I have for now. You have to wait for the 50.”

The exciting feeling had worn out as the merc accepted defeat, “Fine.” At least he had money now. Better than nothing.

The duo left Hotel Rexford with a dead space in between them. MacCready was accustomed to staying behind his clients since as a sniper, he was better in long range rather than close range combats. Amelia did not question this. She needed the distance, especially with what happened in the hotel room earlier. That was an embarrassing first impression she had established. They were supposed to head to the shops to sell some of her salvaged stuff when they saw the Goodneighbor residents grouped together, blocking their way. They seemed to be watching something. That was when they noticed Mayor Hancock at the balcony of Old State House.

“We freaks gotta stick together!” Hancock declared, “And the best way to stick together is to keep an eye out of what drives us apart, you feel me?” The entire neighborhood shouted in agreement to the mayor. “Now, what out there in our big, friendly Commonwealth would want to drive us apart? What kind of twisted, un-neighborly _boogeyman_ would want to hurt our peaceful community?”

The crowd angrily cried, “The Institute and their synths!”

“The Institute! They’re the real enemy! Not the Raiders, not the Super Mutants, not even those tools over in Diamond City,” he continued. Hancock made sure the people were at the same page as him. “Now, I want everyone to keep the Institute in mind. When someone starts acting funny. When people are doing things they don’t normally do. When family starts pushing you away for no reason. We all know who’s behind that kind of shit. And the only way to stop it is to stick together. They can’t control us if we’re not afraid!” The mayor’s fist was clenched and it was pounding the balcony’s railing. “Now who’s scared of the Institute?”

“Not us!”

“And which town in the Commonwealth should the Institute not fuck with?”

“Goodneighbor!”

“And who’s in charge of Goodneighbor?” Hancock really emphasized his position.

“Hancock!” The people chanted with loyalty in their voices, “Of the people, for the people!”

“Fuck yeah!” Mayor Hancock exclaimed with his fist pumped high. The townspeople applauded him in response. MacCready clapped along out of amusement. The sight of the people cheering was the very evidence that Goodneighbor is one tough neighborhood to mess with. Amelia clapped both of her hands too but out of respect from everyone being impressed, and not something she purposely wanted. Besides, the mentioned organization brought her mind to another place. Back to Shaun.

MacCready was about to make a remark to his boss about how damn charismatic Hancock had been back there when he saw Amelia’s expression. Her face gave it all away; she was deep in her thoughts.

“Boss?” He tried to snap her out of it. Amelia blinked, but she did not utter a word. As soon as the people dispersed, they headed straight into the shopping area of the town. Amelia was hauling her fairly heavy backpack towards Daisy’s Discounts. MacCready remembered how he carried that load last night with the woman in his arms. His shoulders had become sore afterwards. Hell, he could even feel the slight pain until now. He couldn’t imagine how his client was able to lift something which looked bigger than her; what’s more, he couldn’t help but think why Amelia’s pack was full of junk while she was placing each object on the shop’s counter.

“MacCready!” The ghoul shopkeeper called him out, “I haven’t seen you in a while. You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?” Amelia was still busy drawing stuff from her pack, so he took the time to entertain himself and his friend, “Now how could I stay away from someone as cute as you, Daisy?”

The ghoul giggled, but she was not extremely flattered, “You’re a lousy liar, but I’ll just play stupid and pretend I didn’t know that.”

Amelia had just finished her business, “Here are all the stuff for sale.” Daisy shifted her gaze towards Amelia then back to MacCready, beckoning him to at least orient her about the woman. MacCready did so, “Ah. That’s my client right there. Hey boss, care to introduce yourself to my friend Daisy?”

Amelia raised her brows, still picking up what the merc had said. When she finally understood, she looked at Daisy then offered her hand for a shake, “I’m Amelia. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

“Oh my, what a fine young lady you are. Didn’t expect you to be like that after the action last night.” Daisy was the ghoul shopkeeper who warned her about the bald man she had killed.

“Thank you for the compliment and for your help,” Amelia said as they both shook hands. Daisy was surely a rare find in the wasteland. It was not every day that the vault woman could come across someone who still had manners. She felt relief, despite the feeling of the ghoul’s wrinkly hand.

Daisy flashed a proud smile over the merc, “Mac, you gotta watch out for your client. She was the one who ended Finn and his antics!”

“Finn, that son of a gun?” MacCready could not picture his client doing that, but he remembered how she almost killed him back at the hotel room. Regardless, he did not care. He knew that he was still the best shot. If he wasn’t, then Amelia would not come crawling to his lounge in The Third Rail.

After their barter for 150 caps and a box of Yum Yum Deviled Eggs as lunch, both left Goodneighbor and set out for a journey. Amelia was thinking twice whether to head back to Sanctuary Hills or to approach Nick for the next phase of their plan. She had already gotten herself familiar with Memory Den, the place where she and Nick would seek help, thanks to Hancock’s tour. Unfortunately, she did not check the place. She wanted Nick to be there beside her for certainty. For some reason, she was scared of stepping foot in there alone. Sure, Hancock was with her, but she had not yet seen solace in him.

That was when she realized how dependent she had been over people who were willing to help her. This was her search, not theirs, so why was she being a chicken? For her entire life, she had been a big coward. When she wanted to pursue science in college, she did not fight for it. She allowed her parents to decide for her, which was why she ended up a law graduate. It was beneficial for her today since if it was not for that three-year degree, she would have not gotten away from several obstacles without putting up a fight. But it was her dream they had discussed before. A dream that had been put into waste. When she wanted Nate to stay beside her instead of fighting, she did not tell. She wasn’t able to do anything when her lover was thrown to the hellish pit of war. Patriotism was forced in her mind- the country’s glory would always come first before her.

MacCready on the other hand, did not pay any attention to his client’s well-being. For him, what mattered was their survival. They were still in the vicinity of downtown Boston, and he made sure to keep his guard up, especially since they were out in the open. “This here is the Common. We need to get the hell out of here quick… unless you like being killed,” he whispered towards Amelia. He thanked the heavens that his client knows how to use a gun, judging from what she did with Finn and how she ‘greeted’ him earlier at the hotel. He had worse ones before, and never would he decide to work with them again. That was until he heard a beeping sound. Amelia’s foot had triggered a frag mine. MacCready immediately pulled her arm to run away from the mine, hurriedly seeking cover from a large nearby rubble. They both ducked while he concealed the woman under his grasp. The blast almost kicked the two from their position. Thankfully, none of them were hit by shrapnel. But this did not stop MacCready from fuming.

“Are you an idiot?! You almost got us fricking killed!”

Amelia suddenly huddled herself on the concrete ground, breaking down into tears. He was forced to watch this pathetic scene happen in front of him. Great, an addition to his long list of clients to never work with again in the future. He wasn’t sorry, too. Served her right. He knew she had to realize how stupid a move like that was. ‘She has to learn the hard way,’ he noted. Unlike her, for his entire life he never cried over his own mistakes. Growing up without a guardian, he had to endure everything the wasteland threw at him because in the long run, he only had himself to rely on. The woman had to suck it all up, same thing he had been doing all along.

“Here’s a little friendly advice for the open road: stop making us look so stupid,” MacCready scolded when Amelia finally managed to calm down- which seemed like forever for him. It was a miracle that no one attacked them after the blast, given that they were still inside hostile territory. In spite of that, they remained as stealthy as they can throughout the remainder of the journey so they could get out of Boston without losing any of their body parts. Amelia had become more vigilant over possible traps she could step on since she didn’t want both of them to get killed. And, to look stupid. The merc still had his brows wrinkled downwards. He refused to look at his client. Might irritate him more.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, they finally saw grass. It was not the usual green that Amelia used to see before the war, yet it still delivered ease to her, knowing that they were out of the city-turned-battlefield. MacCready even found an open trailer nearby. _Talk about luck._ He hopped inside to inspect, “There has to be something valuable around here.” He saw yellow crate boxes which he started unlocking. Inside one, he found boxes of ammunition and two bottles of Nuka-Cola. These stuff somehow made him relaxed, cooling steam which seemed ready to blow off of his nose. He tossed one over his client, “Drink up, boss.”

Amelia was glad to have caught it despite her frailness, or else she would have missed that familiar taste of sweetness. She smiled upon remembering how she used to chug one during summer camps back when she was in high school. Back when she was still innocent. Too innocent to ignore the news of war between China and America. It was like that until she reached her first year of law college. Got slapped by reality when she joined a volunteers’ organization where she was shipped to Hawaii as a medic along with her other orgmates. Where she met her husband, Corporal Nathan Williams, a true American soldier with an unbelievably big heart.

MacCready jumped out of the trailer and observed the setting sun from the cloudy, irradiated sky, “It’s getting late. Maybe we should look for shelter.”

The vault woman, who was sitting with her legs dangled on the trailer’s entrance and her backpack on her lap, furtively took ahold of her Pip-Boy, and checked its digital map. Preston had left location marks of settlements they have been to on it from their travels. Maybe they could rest in one nearby. MacCready noticed the green light on his client’s face, “What’s that?”

Amelia quickly shove the Pip-Boy in her pack, “Nothing.”

The mercenary gave her a suspicious look. He made sure to find it out soon. The vault woman leaped out of the trailer and looked towards the trail tracks, ignoring MacCready's expression, “There’s a settlement nearby if we follow this. Come on.”


	6. Oberland Station

A bright light from a small tower greeted them. Amelia waved one hand towards the direction of the spotlight, and in just a second, it shifted its light towards another. Oberland Station: its junk gate had two turrets defending it on both sides through raised platforms, and a settler assigned as a guard, with his trusty pipe pistol, on his post. MacCready counted the settlers who had acknowledged their presence. There were nine inside the settlement, with six of them who had called his client "General". He reckoned that it was a ridiculous racket she must have pulled to convince these people. Moreover, a General of what?

After being served ribeye steak for dinner in the mess hall, they were lead to the second floor of a large wooden shack past the crops' field. It was divided into two areas: one that functioned as barracks for the settlers, given away by the scattered matresses, and a smaller one concealed by a wooden wall and a door. They had entered the smaller room which looked like someone's private quarters. It had two mattresses that huddled on the side walls, with a green storage trunk separating both. Facing opposite the beds was the balcony with the Minuteman flag as its curtain. In the middle part of the room was a salvaged couch and a coffee table with a round rug beneath.

Amelia placed her backpack on the table and invited MacCready to do the same. She kicked off her combat boots then plopped onto her mattress. "You can take Preston's bed for the meantime," she said with a muffled voice. The merc did so, untying the laces of his boots while sitting on his bed's edge. The room was kept fresh and lit by a ceiling fan that had a light bulb in its center.

"There's a bathhouse outside. Do you want to go first?" Amelia offered. MacCready shook his head. He could not get one particular thing out of his mind, and he wished to have an answer for it tonight. So he refused.

The woman stood up and pulled out clothes from the storage trunk. "Suit yourself," then she headed out. When Amelia returned, she was wearing a loose white shirt, a pair of jeans and was holding a basket for her laundered clothes. While cleaning his rifle, MacCready was eyeing his client as she came in. The dripping sound from Amelia's wet hair and laundry basket was what filled the room. She then hung her washed clothes on the balcony's improvised clothesline.

As soon as MacCready had just finished reassembling his rifle and his composure, he casted his gun beside his bed, then made an impulsive request from the busy woman, "Can I ask you something?"

"About what?"

"This whole... charade. They called you General back there."

"Charade?" The word was salty coming from MacCready's mouth, "They weren't lying."

The merc found that three-word sentence incredulous. Sorry for her but he was never the type to be easily fooled, "Come on. I already told you my story. I think I deserve to know yours, too. Plus my promised 50 caps."

The woman rolled her eyes. She never knew someone who was that giddy for caps other than him, not even the traders. She walked towards the surface where her pack was, then handed a small sack of caps to him before heading back to her chore. After double-checking if it really was 50, MacCready finally showed interest to what his client was about to tell, "You were saying?"

"It was... not something I willingly wanted. I was appointed to be the General of the Minutemen after I helped a couple of settlers escape Concord. They were attacked by- what do you call them? Raiders?"

"Yeah... Raiders," the merc replied in a questioning tone. Who in this hellish wasteland wouldn't know about those shi- turdheads?

"They were trapped inside the Museum of Freedom. After rescuing them, a giant lizard with big horns-"

"A deathclaw."

"Yes, that. It came just when we thought the fight was over. Preston... the Minuteman told me about a crashed vertibird above the museum. It had a power armor and minigun inside. Those things were so heavy, but I used those to kill the deathclaw. After putting it down, I brought them to Sanctuary Hills, my village, which was quite distant from the museum. Helped them resettle. Killed more raiders in a nearby factory, then awarded with the title along the scars and wounds. Now I'm supposed to do the same to other people so they would join the Minutemen, helping us regroup in the process."

"But," MacCready got out of his matress and walked towards where Amelia was hidden, his one hand holding something behind him, "Where were you from, really?"

He saw his client gulp. And unnaturally so young. So vulnerable. Was it her skin? She was nervous of admitting something. "I already told you, I'm from Sanctuary Hills."

"Then tell me what's this doing inside your pack." He held out her Pip-Boy with its screen displaying her full name. She immediately swiped it away from his grasp, "Tha-That's none of your business. And don't go touching other people's stuff!"

"Sorry to burst the bubble but that is my damn business! Unless you want me to let you die out there and just run away with all the caps you gave me before you had the chance to stab me by my back," he bawled out with his finger pointing out to the fields. MacCready wanted to trust her, but with her ambiguity, this whole deal they have might not work. He wanted to make sure that his boss won't try to play games with him. He didn't want to risk his life over an unworthy piece of crap.

Amelia was taken aback by her hired gun's words. Was she being stupid again? Was she making him look stupid again? Her lungs started to constrict tighter than it normally should, making her breathing difficult again. She might be appearing over reactive in front of the mercenary right now, but she was actually having another attack. She despised how a misfortune she had been to herself, to her husband, and even to the people she was with to date. She hated how she could not understand something so simple just because she was always driven by fear.

To her surprise, MacCready assisted her to her bed, then brought her a glass of purified water. He was smoothing her back with his hand while she took deep breaths and hydrated herself. The mercenary knew how those attacks work. His wife used to have those, which was why he vowed on protecting her with all his life. But it was a broken promise. She was already dead, damn it.

The painful memory made him crave for a smoke. As soon as his client drifted into sleep, he removed and folded his duster and scarf to rest on the table. Then, he pulled out a green flannel and a pair of pants from his pack. MacCready headed downstairs towards the bathhouse, stripped off his fatigues, and soaked himself in one of the makeshift tubs with a lit stick of cigarette in between his lips. Heaven knew how much he missed his wife Lucy. Sometimes he'd wished for it to return his wife down on Earth and to give them a second chance in life. To avoid what happened back in that metro station. To avoid the disease his son caught. He exhaled a whiff, the smoke's odor sticking through his nostrils.

He had to suck it up. As always.

 

* * *

 

Settlers were assembled at the large shack's dining room turned into a conference area. Sitting at its capital was Amelia who laid out plans for Oberland Station. MacCready was leaning at the doorframe, tasked to wait for the meeting to end. He was savoring the smoke from his cigarette. A puff to set him into the right state for the morning.

"Since there has been reports of scouting Gunners from the past days, we must fortify the junk walls overlooking the highway. Make sure that their bullets won't easily penetrate. A hidden guard post must also be built at the east to keep check of these scouts." MacCready could not believe what he was hearing. He knew that he had to keep his distance since it was Minutemen business, but he couldn't help but overhear everything his client was saying. Her tactics were generic, but pretty acceptable for someone who almost got her body splattered into chunks of flesh back at Boston Common. He pondered that maybe she could be a bit clumsy at times, but she did deserve the title of a General.

"We must beat them at their own game if we don't want to surrender Oberland Station. Everybody's welcome to carry their guns at all times, just in case they-"

A mechanical whirring interrupted Amelia's instructions. Automated shooting commenced from the turrets outside, alerting them of a possible threat. These turrets bought the settlers time to ready their guns and fix themselves in organized positions. MacCready seized the rifle from his shoulder and pulled Amelia to squat, "You point and I'll shoot. Pretty simple arrangement. Got it?"

"What do you mean?" She was confused. Sounded like some sort of military lingo. A thing she never heard of, not even from Nate.

MacCready didn't have time to explain, "Just do what you do best. I'll provide you cover," then he ran up to the watch tower of the settlement. He poked his sniper rifle's barrel out of the window, stabilized it, and peered through his scope. Fricking Gunners. He counted two conscripts who had successfully impaired the machinegun turrets with their laser rifles. There was a blazing urge within him to create a gory mess from their heads. A deep breath, release, and a pull of a trigger. Two headshots.

Amelia lined in first defense and carried her shotgun, knocking off a Gunner. She had a bad aim, but she was lucky to take first shot before the enemy did. She took cover in the wooden fences surrounding the farming area. When Amelia stood up, gun at the ready, a harnessed Gunner had his laser pistol aimed at her. Before the enemy almost disintegrated her, a shot made his jaw literally drop, blood spraying over Amelia's face. She momentarily gasped in horror, even coughed out some of the blood that got into her mouth. Multiple shots were heard from MacCready's sniper rifle and the settlers' weapons, finishing off the rest of the infiltrating Gunners rushing towards the center of the small village.

The fight had soon been over, and the settlers were cheering for themselves. Meanwhile, Amelia was vomiting behind the wooden shack, MacCready lazily holding her hair up with one hand and a can of purified water on the other.

"Let it all out, boss," he casually said. Amelia quickly seized the can of water, gargled a portion of it, spitting it on the ground. She harshly wiped her mouth with her free arm, "Was it your shot?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Did it have to be that messy?!" then she swallowed the rest of the water in the can bottomless.

The nerve of this woman. Unbelievable. "You wanted me to let that fu- freak kill you back there? That's not what you paid me for! You could have told me otherwise," he snarkily spat.

She hurled the now empty can into the dirt, "Well, m-maybe I should have!" MacCready heard her stutter. Then, pool of tears was forming again in the corner of her eyes. "I hate this wasteland!"

The merc wanted to storm out of his position. It was his pride desiring to possess him, but he was bothered by the things his client said. Why would she want to die? Because from what he could remember, she hired him for the very opposite of that reason: to keep her sorry ass up and going. Had she not dispensed enough hatred to this world? She wasn't wrong there, though; even he hated the wasteland, especially with every cruel thing it did to him and his family. He was just winging every damn thing just to withstand it and show that he was stronger than the wasteland thought he would be.

"Come on. Stand up," MacCready told Amelia in a tone he once used towards his juniors back in his days with the Gunners, towing her through her arm. The woman dried her eyes with the heel of her free hand and resisted. "I... I need some time to be alone. You could do whatever you want for the meantime," she said, then passed by the merc as if he was just part of the wind.

"Fine by me."

 

* * *

 

 _God._ It was already getting dark, and his client still hadn't showed up. MacCready was worried, not solely for his boss, but also for his reputation in this settlement. For fu- frick's sake, she was General, and above anything else, he was recognized here as her bodyguard. If something wrong happened to her, all eyes and _goddamn_ \- all blames would be towards him. He slugged down on his beer bottle before going out to find her. As he was headed towards the woods, there was a gunshot.

"Shoot," he muttered under his breath before running towards its direction, his rifle in a tight clutch. His pounding chest was put into relief upon seeing Amelia with no enemy- just doing some practice shooting on a bullseye nailed to a tree trunk. Another shot was made, but it only hit its edge.

MacCready did his hardest to stifle a laugh, but Amelia managed to hear it. She flashed an angry reaction, but deep inside she knew that she wasn't getting any better at aiming. The weapon had always been too heavy for her, and there was no chance she'd get physically stronger from the wasteland's environment. The irradiated air was also taking a toll into her stamina, and she was well-aware of it.

The merc approached her. Out of his compulsion, he helped her arrange her stance through her side. His hands navigated her own. For some reason, she was becoming sensitive from his touches because it reminded her of her husband and their little shooting training back at their honeymoon. Her insides churned. ‘I miss you so much, Nate.’

"Come back down to earth, spaceman."

Amelia blinked over MacCready who was waving his hand over her face. "Did you get everything I've said?"

"Um... Yeah. Sure," she replied with a cold look, but the merc was not convinced. Next time, he would absolutely lecture her about her usual habit of daydreaming. For now, he just cooled himself with a face-palm, "Just aim and shoot."

Amelia did, with the eye on the scope. She pulled the trigger, then the gun kicked up more than it should, messing her aim. MacCready checked the bullseye and made a sarcastic remark, "I think you owe that tree an apology." Amelia kept her head down, accepting that she won't ever improve in operating guns. It should have been Nate who had survived, not her. At this point, she wouldn't be able to save Shaun. His son must be disappointed if he would ever see her like this.

"But there's no use sulking like that all your life, boss," MacCready firmly backed up. "Try again. Take it **seriously** this time."

The woman allowed the mercenary to adjust her hand positions and her posture. "Use your dominant eye in looking through the scope. Deep breath. Wait for the reticle to lock on your target, then pull the trigger as you slowly blow out air. Got it?"

Amelia did not bother to respond. She tried to digest everything he said, like he was her favorite professor in science back in college. Her right eye peered on her scope as the center of the bullseye was caught in its crosshair. She tightened her grip on her rifle, took one deep breath, slowly flicked the trigger and exhaled. There was a kick back from the gun, but it was not as bad as before.

"Hey, you got it," MacCready delivered a smirk of success towards his boss as he knocked his curled finger onto the bullseye. Amelia was able to hit the center. Deep inside, she wanted to jump up and down out of glee, but it was childish, so she settled for a smile.

 _"You are such a wonder,"_ she heard her husband say at the back of her mind.


	7. Vault Dweller

The settlers bid Amelia and MacCready goodbye after thanking them for their help in fixing the settlement’s wall and defense system. The sun was already rising from the east, scattering its rays of orange over the wilted but striving vegetation of the wasteland. The duo ventured north with each of their guns at the ready.

“The open road and a loaded weapon. Doesn’t get much better than this,” MacCready unintentionally said out loud. Amelia kept silent because unlike him, she could not relate. The need to fight and survive was still unnatural, compared to her pre-war routine of spending coffee mornings with her new family, practicing court sessions by noon, cradling Shaun in her arms, then resting in her husband’s arms to sweet slumber. The lady was pampered before the Great War. Figured why she was just too weak.

The mercenary was back to his signature duster and cap, but it was unbelievably cleaner now after having it washed back at the settlement. Unlike yesterday, Amelia was now sporting the Pip-Boy around her wrist, alongside the same attire she had on when she first hired the mercenary. She ditched her military cap, in exception. MacCready was somehow amused that Amelia chose to expose her dark hair through a ponytail. He even had the chance to take a better look at her purple highlights. Perfect disguise to look like she was some wild gun ready for any combat.

A small bulb from her Pip-Boy began blinking red. MacCready was disturbed, “Should that thing be doing what it’s doing right now?” He didn’t know how to properly say it since he was clueless about its mechanism. He could never wrap his head around those science stuff. Amelia quickly attended to her worn device, tuning into something which seemed like a distress signal. A military frequency. The General instinct in her commanded her to track it down. So they did, leading them to an empty town.

The place hit her close to home. “Cambridge,” she muttered under her breath. It was where she studied for pre-Law. Brought back late teenage memories to her. She could imagine the students back then, running towards the buildings where their next class was, or to the nearby diners to meet up with their friends after classes. There were soldiers in her memory, too, hooking up with girls of her age back then. Speaking of soldiers…

“It must be near,” Amelia blurted out.

MacCready got her attention, “What’s near?”

There she stood in front of Fraternal Post 115. Its metal sign above the door was rusted yet each letters were still intact, along with the welded metallic flag of America, complete with its paint. Her heart sank. It was where Nate would have delivered his speech.

Amelia had the urge to enter the building. She didn’t mind if there would be creatures inside who wanted her dead. She just wanted to see how Nate will do in its stage, as if her husband was still alive and would still be giving the speech. She caught her rifle which was hanging from her shoulder.

“Hey… You got my back, right?”

MacCready gave her a nod as he clutched tight on his rifle. That was he was paid for, right? Amelia turned off the radio of her Pip-Boy, ignoring her leader instincts for a moment to prioritize her own feelings. Then, her hand reached for the door knob.

They were welcomed inside by a large rubble from the ruined ceiling. Stench of blood and flesh circled the area, as well. MacCready took careful steps to check each corner while Amelia rummaged the nearby rooms for stuff she could keep. The merc was horrified to see bags of chopped flesh set on the floor and on metal carts. Decapitated heads were also hanging in chains on the walls. No wonder the smell was unbearable. Amelia eventually saw the unpleasant sight and gagged.

“We should get out of here,” MacCready advised while pinching his nose. Based from his experience in the wasteland, the only creatures that stocked murdered flesh in bags and carts were the thick-skinned green uglies: The Super Mutants.

“Wait, th-there’s a light over there,” Amelia insisted.

“Forget it.”

“Please?”

MacCready stared into her glassy hazel eyes. It was filled with longingness and despair. Whatever was inside the place, it was that important to her, and she’d be willing to die just to find whatever it was. He had to remind himself that this lunatic in front of him was blessing him caps. Absolutely no excuse for a ‘No’. He sighed, “Fine. But when something bad happens, you’re paying.”

“Thank you,” she said with a slight cracking of her voice. The merc tried to examine what his client was feeling. If the thing she wanted to find was making her feel this sad, why should she even continue?

They trailed the narrow corridor, discovering a locked door. Amelia had discovered a screwdriver from the toolbox in another room, and positioned it on the keyhole along with the bobby pin she pulled from her hair. She knew what she was doing; back in her college dormitory, she used to get locked out of her room since she sneaked out to night dances, her escape from the burdens of college.

The lock made a satisfying click. “There we go,” Amelia breathed in relief.

“Some skill you have there,” MacCready said, impressed. Bless those college curfews before because at least now, Amelia had one skill she could be openly proud of.

The door revealed a spacious hall with cement columns and a stage in the middle. It was pretty dark, the barrel with fire serving as its only source of light. The duo jumped out of surprise upon seeing a Super Mutant on the stage, holding a big piece of ripped out board as its weapon. Amelia immediately covered her mouth with both hands. MacCready hovered his finger over his lips, telling both of them to hush. His grip on his rifle became more secured, prepared to shoot anytime. He pushed both of them to a crouch behind the nearest column. The merc took out his binoculars. What a weirdo. The green ugly on stage had a piece of fabric covering its eyes. Super Mutants never ceased to amaze him with the kind of dumb they show him in his every travel. He tried to scan more. There was a storage trunk in front of the stage, a radio on top of the barrel, and a box thing with a lever on it.

The merc handed Amelia his binoculars and whispered, “Do you know what the thing with the lever is?” She nodded while peering.

“An alarm, perhaps?”

“Shi- Crap.” That blindfolded Super Mutant was the watch guard. With one flick of that alarm, they might become early lunch for the other green monsters it would call. It must be eliminated before it does that. He fumbled inside the utility bag attached to his right thigh. His hands held a suppressor, then attached it to his gun’s barrel. Amelia caught the gist and watched the Super Mutant while the merc set himself up. He knelt, sitting on his one foot and bringing one knee towards his face. He lined his aim on his sniper’s scope, propping his elbow on the raised thigh. MacCready took a deep breath, then hit the mutie’s forehead.

The Super Mutant groaned in pain as he lost his balance, but it was still not enough to bring him down. MacCready cussed under his breath, violating his promise of refraining from doing it.

“You rats!” the mutant screamed as it tried to bring itself to the alarm.

“Don’t let it touch that lever!” MacCready yelled. Amelia dashed towards where the Super Mutant was and tried shooting its stomach. The mutie was swinging its board and it would have hit her if she did not duck and roll on the floor. The merc tried lining his shot towards the mutie’s head but he missed. “Damn it!”

The Super Mutant was close to flipping the switch from the circuit breaker when Amelia made continuous shots to its knee. The bullets jammed to where the joints were connected to the bone’s socket, making the Mutant whimper and slump onto the wall. Amelia pointed her gun’s barrel towards the Super Mutant’s wounded forehead and made two shots, ending its life. She was shaking, probably from the adrenaline wearing out from her body. “I can’t believe I did that,” she later realized. It was not her first encounter with the creature, but it was definitely her first time killing one.

MacCready approached her, giving her a pat on her shoulder, “Now that’s what I call a confirmed kill. Impressive move in crippling that greenskin.”

“Thanks,” she faintly smiled.

The mercenary set his eyes on the storage trunk in front of him along with the ammo boxes surrounding it. Prizes well earned. “I don’t know what we came here for, but it’s best to take everything we can carry.”

Amelia took cautious steps towards the platform. So this was supposed to be his stage. She walked towards the podium, blew the dust off of it, and touched its surface. She imagined how it would look like: civilians and soldiers gathered while wearing their best and polished attires, cameras flashing towards the stage, and her husband Nate, wearing his corporal uniform. Amelia thought that she would be sitting along other ranked officials on stage, recognized as the hero’s wife, supporting him from behind while dressed in her off-shoulder burgundy lace dress, finished with a pair of stilettos. And Shaun- the infant Shaun in her arms.

She reached for the microphone beside the podium. She cleared her throat, speaking as if she was Nate, “War… War never changes.”

Then she looked down on her feet. MacCready stared at her, waiting for her to drop tears. Another pathetic scene, but for some reason he could not get mad from it anymore. He figured out that Amelia wouldn’t be like that if she did not go through something. And he knew that when the tragedy had happened in his family, he was that pathetic, too.

“I lived before the war.”

 _That was uncalled for._  He shot her a bewildered look. At this point, he thought that she wasn’t being serious. Maybe she was cheering herself up? He let out a forced laugh, “Yeah right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Cut the bull.” The lady was out of her mind. ‘Came here and risked our life just to say a few words to a damn microphone’, he thought.

“I’m from a vault, if that’s what you want to know,” she told the mercenary as she got out of the platform and sat on the storage trunk. “Retreated there with my family when the bombs fell centuries ago.”

MacCready suddenly became interested in her story given her serious tone. Finally, an answer to her possession of a Pip-Boy. But he refused to give any reaction. He just stood still in front of his client.

“It was a fallout shelter made by Vault-Tec. Told us that we’ll be spending our lives there until the All-Clear, you know, when it’s okay for us to head out back to the outside world. They have instructed us to enter the pods they had for medical screening and decontamination, but,” she paused. MacCready looked down at her to see her tilting her head towards the ceiling, trying to avoid the tears from falling out of her eyes. “But… They put us in cryostasis. They lied to us. We were frozen for 200 years, which explains why I still look the same and not a ghoul.”

The mercenary balled his fists. He never had good impressions on those vaults. Always knew there were messed up things done in there. Two fucking centuries. She was that old. Big thanks to Vault-Tec. It was a big smack to the mercenary’s inner detective. No wonder she seemed so off. So out of place. Like she constantly wandered to a world outside the wasteland. He did not expect her to be like that when she first entered his lounge back at The Third Rail. She had fire in her eyes, but for some unknown reason, it was extinguished the next morning, after they left Goodneighbor. After Hancock’s speech.

“And then, I woke up, but I was still in my pod. So did my family. I have- had, a husband and an infant child, you know. My husband, Nathan Williams, served in the military as a corporal during the war. Before the bombs were dropped, we have a son. H-His name is Shaun.”

There was a stabbing pain in MacCready’s chest when he heard about her family. He introduced himself as a soldier to his wife, too. A lie he regretted until now. And just like her, Lucy and he had a child, and they named him Duncan.

Amelia casted her eyes on the floor as she continued talking, “There were strangers who came towards my husband’s pod. They… They wanted my baby. They wanted Shaun but we didn’t know why. Nate was holding our baby tight. And then… I was in my pod when I saw them shoot Nate. The-They killed my husband and took my baby!” Her trembling fingers were digging into her scalp as she cried. MacCready was speechless. All his life, he thought that he was the only one who have been through that kind of pain. But here, in front of him was a living relic of the past who only wished to spend life with her family, but still had her husband killed.

“And just when you thought things are already at its worst, I was frozen again in my pod. Woke up another 10 years later to this unforgiving world!” The woman quickly got rid of the armor pieces around her torso and leather jacket she was wearing, and threw all of it across the room. “That jacket belonged to the man who kidnapped my son. H-He gave my son to the Institute! If it wasn’t for him, then I would have not been away from him for 10 years! Imagine that, waking up 200 years later then missing out on your child for another 10 years because they put you again in fucking ice!”

He wanted to punch the wall. He felt like he was pierced multiple times in his chest. He instantly regretted how he had treated his client before. Never knew that her situation was that worse. It even involved the damn Institute. Amelia kept on wailing while pulling her hair. He didn’t know what to do at that point, but he still tried to reach out. The vault woman felt a gentle pat on her shoulder and within her blurry vision, she saw MacCready knelt to the ground, his face as down at the dumps as hers.

The mercenary was surprised when Amelia hugged him. He was momentarily frozen. It had been a long time since someone touched him. Since his presence was whole-heartedly appreciated. Slowly, he laid his hands on her back and smoothed it, “There, there.”

The hug was nice. It was as nice as the other hugs Amelia got from Preston and Piper. It felt like she had a brother backing her up. After a minute, Amelia pulled away from the hug. She didn’t want to be too invading of his space. After all, it had only been a few days of them together. She wouldn’t want the mercenary to be uncomfortable around her given how clingy she could be when she’s depressed.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” MacCready replied.

The woman sniffed and tried to beam a smile, “I hope you could trust me now?”

It was a weight out of MacCready’s chest, knowing who his client really was. At least there won’t be a bullet on his back, “Sure thing, boss.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I'm not so good at action... yet? I want to improve, though.  
> Special thanks to SeleneMoon21 for the bookmark! I hope I would be able to bring justice!


	8. Tin Can Needs Help

“Watch out!”

Amelia ducked as MacCready shove his rifle on the feral ghoul’s mouth that ran towards them, and pulled the trigger. His suppressor was off now since it could mess up his range, but it just attracted more ferals. There were also multiple gunshots heard nearby- no, more like booming from laser pistols. The distress call from Amelia’s Pip-Boy was also beeping louder than before.

“Let’s help them,” Amelia instinctively said, glancing back and forth at her Pip-Boy and the police station. She tugged the merc’s sleeve towards the area.  _Oh god._

“Boss, hold up!” MacCready tried chasing her, but she was blazing her way towards the extensively-walled area, “All the ferals are going there. It’s not a good idea.” But there was no stopping her. God fucking damn it!

They fought their way to the combat zone. Amelia was a quick learner from her shooting lesson back at Oberland Station, and though she wasn’t as good as MacCready in delivering flawless shots, which in return saves ammo, hers were average enough to be considered normal. Both were near the barricades when one feral charged and tumbled over her. MacCready was also brought down, his body gliding over the corrugated ground.  _Motherfu- That hurt._  A few meters away from him was Amelia, screaming in such a high pitch that it had nothing but pure terror in it. The feral was lashing its way to make contact with her body as she struggled and blocked its gnawer multiple times with the plating on her arm.

And there he was. Lost in his own nightmare. It was dark, and nothing was heard but the blood-curdling scream from his wife, the feral’s groans, and Duncan’s crying. He felt powerless.

“Lucy…”

Then a bright red beam rayed through the feral. It shook MacCready back to the light- back to the police station. He ran towards the woman just to make sure she was okay and held her through her shoulders. Dark hair, not a dirty blonde. It wasn’t Lucy. It was his boss, Amelia, dusting the disintegrated ashes of the feral off her body and fear labelled within her contracted pupils. Thankfully, it seemed like it was the last feral present, letting her breathe once again.

Everything went quiet. The sounds of lasers were nowhere to be perceived anymore. They made a quick glance to where its beam came from. Holding the laser pistol was a big figure in an armor equally protected as the police station, with pipes in its hidden cavities, like a vehicular engine. Amelia had worn a similar one before, back in Concord: a power armor. However, the figure’s armor looked bigger and more used than the one she wore, with scratches and splotches of blood on its thick metal plates, obviously from the ferals that had attacked. The mercenary noticed a familiar insignia printed on its large chest plating, distinguishable by the sword, wings laid out in a manner as of a wreath, and gears.

The figure’s approach was nerve-wracking until the mood was destroyed by childish MacCready who almost spurted an explosive laugh- the one with saliva shooting from his mouth- as he saw the man in such a huge armor with his head exposed, looking so tiny in it.  **A man in a life-size tin can.**  Good thing he contained it into a subtle ‘pft’ or else he would had met the same fate as the feral just before.

After digesting the presence of the two wanderers in front of him, the man in the power armor spoke in an authoritative way, “We appreciate the assistance, civilians. But what’s your business here?”

MacCready’s humor had immediately shifted to distaste out of the way they were being looked down. Now to make the tin can regret his words, “Our business is ours to keep, tin can. You should be grateful my boss here insisted to help you.” Amelia pinched MacCready’s arm as a way of passing a ‘You’re being too disrespectful’ message to him. It made no effect. What came out of his lips was what came out, and it was satisfying for him to see the man’s brow raised in surprise. Runny but frank mouth, he certainly had.

“If it was your boss who have provided assistance, then it is your boss that I would like to speak to,” the armored figure said matter-of-factly.

Amelia stepped forward, taking over MacCready, and sheepishly raised her hand. Her chin was tilted to see the foot-higher man’s face outlined by his orange hood. His thick brows sat atop his sunken eyes, and his right brow had a slit. His eyes were dark, and the way it was shadowed by the arches of his brows showed that he meant business, “Are you from a local settlement?”

“I’m from Sanctuary Hills, on the other side of Concord.”

‘So that’s where we’re heading?’ was a question MacCready wanted to ask her if it weren’t for the tin can’s persistent interrogation. “I’ve seen the location on our maps, but I’ve never visited the area myself. There isn’t much over there for us to collect.” The last word echoed in Amelia’s mind. She wished that she would not regret revealing her settlement to the stranger, or else she would be bringing danger to her people, given how armed and abled the man was.

The look on Amelia’s face was not dismissed. “If I appear suspicious, it’s because our mission here is difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we’ve been constantly under fire. If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side.”

MacCready did not like where it was going, so he leaned into Amelia to give her light about their situation, “Can I have a word with you, boss?”

“Sure.”

They strutted a meter away from the stranger before the merc spoke, “That man you’re talking to, he’s a soldier from the Brotherhood of Steel, and I don’t think you want to get mixed up with these clowns.”

“What’s the Brotherhood of Steel?”

“Military group, and they’re big trouble. All you have to know is that they don’t give a damn about us unless we have tech they could knick-knack.”

“If they are big, then would they know something about the Institute?”

“Definitely.”

Amelia’s eyes widened, and she knew that it was enough to give the green light, “Then it would be best to stick with them.”

“Boss-“ MacCready wasn’t able to convince her about the buffoons. All she knew was if she helped the soldier, it would also had meant gathering details about the Institute, then eventually about her son.

“Sorry for the delay. I am willing to help, but I think we deserve some introductions first.”

“Very well,” the armored man shifted his posture to face the two wastelanders in front of him. “I’m Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel.” He pointed towards the two strangers over the police station’s main entrance, “Over there is Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys. We’re on recon duty, but I’m a man down and our supplies are running low. I’ve been trying to send a distress call to my superiors, but the signal’s too weak to reach them.”

The woman clad in a dark vest full of pockets and a cap on her head raised a hand, “Sir, if I may?”

“Proceed, Haylen.”

They tackled their plan on how to boost the signal of their distress call. It involved trekking to ArcJet Systems to retrieve a deep range transmitter. Paladin Danse mentioned the word ‘infiltrate’, so it implied that they would be putting force against whatever might be guarding the facility.

“So what do you say? You willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?”

Amelia nodded in determination, to which the paladin replied, “Outstanding.”

They were allowed access inside the police station. It was considered as a token of the recon team’s gratitude for their help in eliminating the ghouls. Amelia’s eyes darted around the receiving area. The reception desk was still there, but large ammo boxes were what occupied it. Chairs were stacked in a manner that they were thrown without care towards the walls. Scribe Haylen dragged the wounded soldier in an orange suit, Knight Rhys, to an up-stood chair beside the reception desk. She later carried a medical kit extracted from the right room- which appeared to be the barracks- and carefully tended the knight’s wounds.

Paladin Danse called Amelia to the left room for further discussion of their so-called infiltration. MacCready stayed behind, understanding that he wasn’t needed in the tin can’s blabbering. He took a toppled chair and set it up right to sit on. A deep sigh escaped his lips. It was still a question to him whether it was out of relief after the unplanned charge over the ferals, or out of displeasure that his boss wanted to associate herself with the Brotherhood of  _Fricking_  Squeals.

A shadow towered him which caught his attention. It was Scribe Haylen, still holding onto her med kit, “Do you have wounds in need of treatment, mercenary?”

He wasn’t surprised when he heard his job title from her. It was obvious from his get-up. He shook his head for a ‘No’.

“The paladin made it clear to those scavengers that our supplies are low. You don’t have to waste it on them, Haylen,” a deep and annoying voice said. Knight Rhys was feeling his patched up shoulder wound with his good hand, but he was certainly not holding back his disapproval over Amelia and MacCready.

“We weren’t the ones who set up a call for help here. If anything, you should be thankful that we saved your sorry ass from being feral lunch,” MacCready scorned with an arrogant smirk from his lips.

“Why you little-“ Knight Rhys was cut off by the emerging appearance of Paladin Danse alongside MacCready’s boss.

“Civilian, may I request that you keep your load light by leaving your valuables inside the bunkers. There is no need to worry; you are free to resupply yourself, then let me know if you are ready to begin to prove your worth,” The paladin said in an imperative tone, facing Amelia. She gave a quick nod, then his heavy footsteps rang towards the exit.

“You and your mercenary can take the beds on the far left. We’ll handle your packs while you’re gone,” Scribe Haylen added.

MacCready followed Amelia inside the bunkers lit by a dusty ceiling light. There were four beds lined with orange blankets bearing the group’s insignia. They were not in their cleanest state in Amelia’s eyes, but those were more comfortable-looking than the mattresses she had in her settlements. “I’ll take the farthest left,” MacCready said. His boss did not object. Instead, she busied herself scrambling through her pack for her mission essentials: magazines for her rifle, a Stimpak, a combat knife, and a strip of bubblegum. Amelia figured that maybe she needed something to chew to ease her worries. She even redid her hair into a lousy bun, with dangling locks that touched her nape.

“Hey.”

The mercenary, who was already laying on his bed with his hands tucked behind his head, opened an eye for his boss.

“Paladin Danse insisted that I would be his only company for the mission,” Amelia said while buckling the strap of a military cap Scribe Haylen just handed her, “So I guess you have to wait for me here.”

It wasn’t a problem for him. At least he’d have a break from babysitting his boss who turned out to be one-third his client, one-third his pretending little sister, and one-third his student. It had been pretty troublesome in his side, considering that the woman was not from his time. A fricking war relic. A souvenir that landed to him from centuries ago.

Amelia peeked her head at the room’s doorway just a second after she had already passed through it, with a deep look of concern in her face, “Please don’t cause any trouble while I’m gone.”

“Sure, no sweat.”

Since Amelia was granted access of their supplies, Scribe Haylen took the opportunity to hand her an extra Stimpak. She thanked the scribe, then headed towards the door as MacCready pulled down his cap to his face, eventually falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

Heavy armored thuds woke MacCready up. Lifting his cap, his narrowly parted eyes caught a blurry vision of the scribe hauling another feminine figure towards his direction. He rubbed his eyes in hopes of better vision, and there he saw Amelia, with one arm around Scribe Haylen as she was assisted towards her assigned bunk.

“What the hell happened?” he said, his voice still hoarse from waking up.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” Amelia croaked in deep pain. There was bleeding from her bare arm and the side of her hip. The wound from her hip had a burnt area of skin surrounding it. It was probable that her arm met the same fate.

Scribe Haylen halted MacCready from further speaking with one arm closing her and the injured off from him, “She’s in no capacity to converse at the moment. Give her space to be treated.”

The mercenary shrugged coolly, then headed out of the police station. Knight Rhys was there by the barricades, doing his patrol as instructed by Paladin Danse. His eyes pierced through MacCready’s as he spat on the corpse of the feral below him. Asshat. MacCready didn’t go outside for a staring contest, so he went back in the station to find another place to hang out. There was a backdoor which was fortunately unlocked. After the flight of stairs was another door that revealed the rooftop. He closed the door and leaned on it to make sure that hot-headed Knight Rhys won’t easily barge in.

A stick of cigarette was pulled out from his pack. He lit it with his lighter and sucked on it between pursed lips as if his life depended on it. He puffed out a smoke, and MacCready knew he was out of his mind when the smoke resembled the flow of Lucy’s hair. It was that smooth whenever he’d brush it off her shoulders before planting kisses on her collarbone- his special move that tickled her the most. She’d let out moans that would have drove him crazy for the whole night. It was his second move in their lovemaking- after lip kisses- which resulted to Duncan.

The pit inside of him grumbled, as if it was eating his innards raw. He remembered what his boss whined back in the settlement. “I hate this wasteland!” she had said. “Yeah, well me too, boss. I fu-,” he let out a groan from almost cursing, “-fricking hate it, too.” The rest of his smokes were spent in burying that guilt he carried back into its grave.

MacCready went back to the bunkers. Scribe Haylen was nowhere to be found. His boss was laying supinely on her bed, stripped off of her armor and leather jacket, and left in her white tank top, with the orange blanket covering her from the waist down. He carefully sat by Amelia’s bed’s edge, avoiding any squeaking, and observed her.

Her brows were furrowed, with sweat dripping from her temples. Either she was still in pain or she was experiencing a nightmare. Her lips were slightly unlinked from each other, but hell, those were probably the plumpest lips he had ever seen in the wasteland. He backed a little to trace her lips down to her injured arm. The wound, along with the burnt areas, were wrapped with gauze. But her skin? Her skin looked so smooth. Just like when he confronted him back at her private quarters in the settlement. It was so smooth the little light from the lantern they had in the room was reflecting on it. His boss did not seem like a real person while he was looking at her features. For him, Amelia looked like she jumped out of a drawn pre-war poster. It had confirmed everything she told him back at Fraternal Post 115. He couldn’t believe it; he was being paid by someone from before the Great War. From someone the same age as the comic books he had read before.

A cough startled MacCready. Scribe Haylen had her arms crossed by the doorway, “Didn’t know you were that perverted over your client, merc.”  _The hell?_

“Uh-uh, never,” he replied as he circled around Amelia’s bed to go through his own. The scribe made a last squint of disappointment towards the mercenary before heading towards her own bunker. MacCready positioned himself on his bed and once again, brought the cap down his face, only now it was out of embarrassment.


	9. That Dear Heart

It had been a long, agonizing walk under the burning sun before Amelia and MacCready had reached the weary, wooden bridge leading to Sanctuary Hills. They were bathing in their own sweat that it was already enough for both of them to start a salt business. Amelia’s face had been fixed in a frown. Too upset with how she smelled so unwomanly after every travel. Fragrances weren’t commercially available in the Commonwealth of today, but god, she’d die to have her hands on one.

Meanwhile, MacCready kept himself distracted by studying his client’s laser pistol. Gunners he had worked with before would frequently pick those over normal guns. As for him, he’d never betray his trusty sniper rifle. Been with him since he left his childhood home, Little Lamplight. Amelia told him the energy weapon was given by Paladin Tin Can the morning she woke up. The early bird catches the worm, so they said. It even had a name: Righteous Authority. A pompous kind of name he’d expected from the military group.

His eyes then shifted to the holotag Amelia wore around her neck as it glinted in the sunlight. Guess what? She’s Brotherhood of Steel now. An Initiate, as how Paladin Tin Can and his Babygros called her. It was fairly unsettling to witness how his boss allowed herself to be ordered around by a bunch of raging nerds. He’d talk her out of it, but he knew she would pull out the Institute card. There was no stopping the mother inside Amelia, and he’d have to accept it because if it was Duncan… if it was his son, then damn right he’d be running the same lengths.

A dog with its tongue lolled out sprinted mid-bridge, then tumbled over Amelia. MacCready was about to shoot it, but there was no cue of fire from his boss. Not even a scream. Just… giggling. Little girl’s type of giggling while being tickled.

“Good boy! Who’s the good boy? It’s you!” she cooed sweetly towards the dog licking her face as if it was her own child. Amelia scratched the fur under its blue collar, making it wag its tail like crazy. Friendly pup. Made him remember the farm dog he had when he was with his wife and son. Duncan was crazy over it, though he never tolerated cooing since the dog was for protecting their crops.

Amelia kissed the dog’s forehead, “Come on, Dogmeat!” and it followed her trail towards the open entrance. It had turrets above each side of the gate, same set-up as Oberland Station’s, and a tall guard post at the right. Concrete walls fortified the settlement, but its coverage was not yet finished at the western bank. Some settlers were seen plastering bricks at that side.

By the guard post, a man in his binoculars announced the arrival in a rather excited way, “The General is here!” Dogmeat rode along with the excitement by barking happily. A tall dark man noticeable by his tan colonial duster and Minuteman hat waited at the entrance, waving his laser musket in the air as a form of greeting. To MacCready’s surprise, Amelia started sprinting. She hopped onto the man and hugged him while the man spun her around. He had never seen the boss this lively. Home sweet home, it was- at least for her.

As soon as the mercenary set foot at the entrance, Dogmeat barked, alerting his boss and the man about his presence. They broke off their hug for introductions.

“MacCready, this is Preston Garvey, my right hand in the Minutemen. Preston, this is MacCready, my extra gun,” Amelia casually said, assuming that both men were okay with each other. The white teeth from Preston’s grin were suddenly hidden by his flat lips, clearly showing that he was not happy about MacCready’s presence. MacCready, upon seeing Preston’s reaction, wrinkled his brows, visibly pissed that there had already been an expectation from him. It was a thing done by a few clients that he hated the most: being judged without any show yet. He’d rather be a clean slate by name first before presenting his true potential in person.

Preston simply nodded at him with the same face. MacCready did the same, avoiding his temper get the best out of him while in his client’s territory. The trio proceeded inside the settlement, gates closing behind them.

Sanctuary Hills was abundant with houses that were already laid out before the war, with their walls and roofs patched up by a few sheets of wood and metal. The lots nearest the gate were barracks for the guards that roam its perimeter.

The next lots were trading and market. The pale blue house served as the trader’s inn. It even had a tent and a Brahmin feed-through by its outdoor area. Trashcan Carla was there with her caravan guards and a Brahmin quenching its thirst. Across the pale blue house was a large metal shack with a colorful neon sign that said “Sanctuary Market”. Its first floor was open, filled with carts of different sorts of shops. There were settlers who haggle, others who sell their own junk, and the rest just having a good time by having their hair done or purchasing new set of clothes. Its second floor was closed and will remain a mystery for the mercenary. Its lot had a few heavy turrets, probably for when anyone dared to rob it. Still, it was a wondrous sight for MacCready to see Sanctuary Hills possess its very own version of Diamond City Market.

The merc digested the sight he was witnessing. It would be really nice to settle in here, but it would be nicer if Duncan was here to see it. The kid would love the dog, the Brahmins, and the night lights from the standing light posts and market’s neon sign. He’d surely not shut up about his adventures here with the other children, too.

Amelia and Preston had been talking since the introductions, her right arm linked to his left arm. It was obvious that she really loved his company, leaving the mercenary behind them in silence. They were catching up with each other, Amelia on the settlement’s status and Preston on her travels.

“I see you have a laser pistol. You prefer that over our Minuteman standard laser muskets?”

Amelia rolled her eyes in an irked but friendly approach, “At least Righteous Authority didn’t need cranking up.”

“So that’s its name,” Preston chuckled. “Where’d you get that?”

“From a paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. I helped them with their problem and he gave me this as a reward.” Her fingers grazed the holotag she was wearing, “They even recruited me as Initiate.”

Preston carried concern, “I heard that they’re a military group from Capital Wasteland. You sure about your alliance with them, General?” There was a slight emphasis on the title which made Amelia uneasy. She momentarily stared in space before shaking her head, “Not really, but they assured me that they weren’t interested with Sanctuary Hills. It must mean that any settlement under our control won’t get their attention. Don’t worry, once they do something against their promise, I will be sure to face them as General of the Minutemen.”

“That’s great news,” he replied. “Your timing is impeccable, too. Lunch is already being served in the canteen. I’m glad to be able to dine with you in one piece, General.”

“Thank you, Preston.”

Their distance was not far from MacCready who had happened to hear all. His boss was absolutely stubborn. The Brotherhood of Steel never valued common welfare since Elder Lyons stepped down. It was a miracle that Project: Purity was left in operation, but there were compromises to be met by the people of Capital Wasteland. There would be none like it anymore since the military group had morphed into extremists of their very belief nowadays, thanks to whoever their new elder in charge was.

Thoughts about the Brotherhood of Steel meddling with Commonwealth affairs distracted MacCready from further being at awe from the settlement. Thankfully, he was swayed from his worry by the smell of roasted game. They entered another shack, its walls roughly coated with scarlet red paint. The inside was styled to a diner-like appearance, with benches and tables fit for families. There were lamp lights that stood at every corner, ceiling fans installed, and pre-war posters scattered. The counter had large bowls that catered assorted dishes of meat and vegetables. Apparently, the star dish for lunch was roasted radstag. This was even better than Oberland Station’s mess hall. His tummy grumbled, and god forbid him, his hunger could make him finish all the foods in those bowls in one seating.

“Here," Amelia handed him a plastic tray from its stack as they fell in line for serving. Three of them sat in a table which could fit six people all at once. Preston sat across Amelia while MacCready left a space in between him and his boss. The two conversed once again, leaving the merc with his two pieces of deliciously roasted radstag, mashed tatos, roasted corn, and buttered carrot dices.

He was too preoccupied with munching that he didn't notice the settlers circling their table because of General Amelia's presence. She was overwhelmed by their constant thanksgiving for new life in Sanctuary Hills, to the point that she barely finished her radstag as she left the table with Preston. Good food should not go to waste, so MacCready snatched the unfinished meat and savored on it. Been long since he had a proper meal, all thanks to his client. He sat down for a few good minutes before drinking his water then walking outside.

Amelia was nowhere to be found, so he continued sightseeing. Across the dining shack was a similar structure from what he had seen from Oberland Station, except that this one was bigger. A bathhouse. Ah, but it would have to wait before bed. Surrounding the canteen and the bathhouse were houses assigned to each settlers. Could fit two to three families in each. Each home had a garden for crops, too. Must be something General Amelia had encouraged. He traced back his steps after the rotunda. There were more houses with gardens, until he saw two unique ones that were facing each other.

The yellow house had all sorts of crafting stations in its outdoor part. By its back side was a larger garden for growing various crops. Its window was covered by the blue Minuteman flag from the outside. Peeking, he saw a long table surrounded by several chairs. There was an oil lantern on the table and file cabinets nearby. There was a huge map with chalk marks and lines pinned to the wall facing the table. Perhaps it was the so-called conference area. To the right of the yellow house was a wooden bungalow, with unpowered neon signs that clearly said "Sanctuary Bar".

"Oh man, I'd kill for a drink," MacCready mindlessly uttered in joy. Maybe tonight. The General surely listened to her people's demands, leaving him further impressed.

Across the yellow house was a blue house that had brighter paint than the other houses. It also lacked the garden that the others had. Those were the only things bizarre from it, along with the Restricted Area signage nailed on its front door. Its windows were curtained by what he could identify as the pre-war American flag from the inside. He was about to steal a look when something cold touched his shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir."

MacCready turned around and gasped as he saw a Mr. Handy eye almost poke his face, "Jesus, what the fu-hell?" And he took a step back.

"Oh goodness, I didn't mean to scare you, sir, but do you have any business with Mrs. Williams?"

"Mrs. Who?"

"Mrs. Williams, the General."

"Oh," MacCready didn't know the boss's full name. But he had seen it before from her Pip-Boy. Could be her surname in marriage. "Uh, no, but do you know where she went?"

"Certainly, sir. Mum is at top of the hill. I could take you there if you'd like," the Mr. Handy politely offered. The way it said Mum sounded like it was her robot butler.

MacCready paved the way, "You lead, I'll follow."

The robot led him to a small bridge, then gradually up a hill. So far, Sanctuary Hills was free of scraps, but this hill was left untouched. They arrived at a tattered metal fence when the robot butler ceased from its track, "Mrs. Williams is within these fences, but she prohibited entrance of anyone except for her, me, and Mr. Garvey. May I ask if it would be okay for you to wait here?"

The merc simply nodded, though his curiosity was itching him deep inside.

"Splendid," the robot replied as it floated through the gate and further up the hill. The area was awfully quiet, so he looked for any possible location for threat, grabbing his rifle.

"You were looking for me?"

MacCready jolted from the sudden talking, then turned around to see Amelia with her soft hair down, pinned by its sides and purple highlights visible under the sun. She was also wearing a blue denim dress with a belt to highlight her slight curvature, and a pair of worn-out brown flats to match her belt. Looked like he was being confronted by someone who ripped her way out of a pre-war billboard ad.

Her eyes were far-out, though. Red and puffy. She had been crying again, hadn't she?

"Um, I was wondering if you could show me where I'll stay," he said while scratching the back of his hair.

"Oh... Right. Sorry, I totally forgot."

"It's fine."

"Codsworth," she faced the Mr. Handy who escorted MacCready, "Can you lead Mr. MacCready to my house?"

"With pleasure, mum."

"Thank you," then she gently pat Codsworth's metal dome head.

To MacCready's surprise, he was accompanied to the bright blue house he had been eyeing earlier. Codsworth opened the front door, beckoning the mercenary inside. Nothing came out from him except for a jaw-drop. The cleaning robot here never took a day-off based from the looks of the interior. Pieces of furniture were not as pristine as they could be but they were the sanest pieces he had ever seen in Commonwealth. The living room had a restored pre-war stereo by the window, a small cabinet for liquor, a coffee table, and a couch paired by an ottoman. There was a long counter which divided the room in half, white coffee mugs and a glossy coffee pot on it. The kitchen had its fridge but it didn't look powered, its counters, and a working sink given the dish rack. There was a dining table for four and an abstract painting on the dining area.

"I'm pleased to see you adoring Mum's home. I did my best to keep the place neat for her return, along with the help of Mr. Sturges," Codsworth butted in as the merc paced around. Behind the couch was a shelved wall. There were stacks of barely burnt books, magazines, and-

"Holy shi-crap! Grognak the Barbarian!"

Comics. He had always loved reading comics, especially Grognak the Barbarian. His fingers tucked in each comic book as he checked their volumes. It seemed that the General had not completed them, but was eager to do so. From his peripheral vision, he caught sight of a frame. It contained a picture that had gone amber given its age, and was slightly burnt by a half. A family picture. The faces of the man and baby were engulfed by the flame, except for the woman's face. His hand grasped on the frame to take a closer look.

"Crap," he mumbled as he stared on it crazy, seeing the lovely pre-war housewife Amelia in a meek smile. "Everything was really true."

And for a moment there, MacCready felt slightly dizzy.


	10. Those Gentle People

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to SolluxVargas for the bookmark! SolluxVargas has written works too, so if you like Assassin's Creed, check out their profile here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolluxVargas
> 
> Thanks to FlameInYourHeart also for leaving a comment in this work. I hope that you're having fun reading this fanfic! Check out their profile if you're a Dragon Age fan: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlameInYourHeart
> 
> Comments, suggestions, and any sort of criticism would always be highly appreciated. I've been in a daze lately, and I think I'm entering the writer's block phase- which is kinda scary. As much as possible, I don't want to run out of ideas since I post two chapters per week. But again, thank you for reading! It really warms my heart.

Amelia wasn't able to eat most of the roasted radstag since duty called. Not that it wasn't delicious. It was cooked well. Spiced just enough, too. She made a mental note to give her compliments to the assigned cook later and apologize for not finishing her meal.

She and Preston did their best to entertain the settlers giving their gratitude. It made her heart flutter knowing that she was finally useful, and that people were actually happy to have her around.

"No need for gifts, okay? Keep the crops for everyone to share. I'm just doing my job as your appointed General," she clarified to each and every settler who were carrying baskets of goods presented to her. They were nodding heedfully, appreciating how much she valued resources for all.

Preston coughed to capture their attention, "Okay everybody, let's all go back to work and let the General rest." Amelia mouthed a 'thank you' to him and escorted her to her home.

As soon as the door creaked, Codsworth whirred cheerfully, "Mum, you're here! Welcome home!"

"Thank you, Codsworth. I'm glad to see you again, too."

"I understand it had been a long journey. I shall prepare you a relaxing bath and fresh clothes," Codsworth offered as he hovered in less than a second to the bathroom.

It was really nice of the Mr. Handy butler to prepare her a pretty dress. Like it knew her intention of visiting Nate's grave. She'd always wanted to be congenial- the way she always was- in front of the love of her life. Even though she was that conservative, Nate never failed to remind her that even without the darling outfits, she would always be the cherry on top of his ice cream.

She hiked up the hill, elevating the hem of her dress to avoid it from getting dirty. She carefully dipped herself pass the ruined metal fence, fists still gripped on the skirt of her dress. Finally, she had arrived to the top, stepping over the vault lift towards the burial mounds overlooking Sanctuary Hills.

"Hello, honey." She cautiously sat herself on the grass, eyeing the carved gravestone of her husband. Her right hand grazed the elevated part of the mound with hopes of trying to feel movement from under. There was none, as expected.

She swiftly withdrew her hand, gently placing it on her lap along with her other hand. The clouds were partially covering the sun, allowing autumn breeze to be felt more than the heat.

"Guess you were wrong about me, huh? I'm not your scaredy-cat wife, anymore," she forced a naughty giggle. Amelia imagined Nate, sitting across her with his arms crossed and his left brow up in question. Probably asking 'What did you do?', too.

"Remember the zombies we have watched in the movies before? The one that gave me bad dreams? I fought a ton of them last time. They were so nasty, and I almost died, no kidding!" and again, forced a laugh. She'd imagine his husband pretend to be in shock then crack a laugh, too. Then, her eyes averted from the stone to her clenched hands.

"I... I thought you were there, you know. There was this man in a power armor. A paladin. A soldier, just like you." Her fingers were playing with each other as she reminisced late night talks with Nate, about his experience with power armors back in Anchorage. He said that he felt like an armored Grognak, and her eyes were lit for that whole time. Those were one of the few great nights Nate had after the war. Most of the time, he'd be sweating and tumbling around, murmuring things about him being sorry for not saving them and more.

The worst one would have to be him strangling Amelia's neck while crying in his sleep. She touched her neck, remembering the redness it received from Nate's tight hold. When Nate snapped, he cooed her and cried more from unconsciously tempting to end her life. It frightened the hell out of her, but at the same time, she understood her husband's suffering. He never experienced college. Nathan Williams was a high school graduate when he was enlisted in the army. Told her that meeting her was his sweetest escape from his hellish life, and that hopefully, she'd be able to accept him for who he was conditioned to be. And that she did. She loved that man so much she entrusted her life to him. He did love her that much, too. Risked everything, even his own dignity as a soldier (like one of those times he punched another corporal for lusting over Amelia), just to make sure that his wife was safe from her own cruel world. To make sure that she was the best thing that ever happened to him instead of treating her as a liability, just as how the usual husbands treated their wives.

Her hands instinctively wiped her eyes before tears almost fell on her cheeks, "And Nate, wherever you are, please don't be mad at me for being an Initiate. I know you have always insisted to fight my fights but I've got nothing to do but to handle them by myself now." Now, she could imagine Nate gingerly holding her bruised hands, fingers sweeping on her dry skin. She let her hands hang in the air as if the memory was happening in real time. Bucketful of tears spewed out of her eyes.

"Oh god, Nate, I miss you so much. Please come out there and come back to me. I need you. I need to be in your arms, for fuck's sake," she wailed with hitches of her breath in between, her fingers digging into his mound. Amelia was done pretending that she could take more of this wasteland. She was done toughening herself to be what everyone was expecting her to be. She was willing to help people, but she couldn't bear giving and giving the last sane bits of herself.

"I wish it was me who was dead. I wish it was me and not you, hon."

"Mum?"

 _This was such a bad timing._ Amelia rubbed her face harshly then cleared her throat to speak to the waiting robot, "Yes, Codsworth?"

"There's a man looking for you downhill. Wearing all greens and a cap. He seemed to be not a settler from around here because he wasn't familiar by face nor voice," the robot butler explained. "But if you want to continue your alone time then I-"

"No, no, it's all good. I'll meet him there. Don't fret, Codsworth. I'm fine."

Amelia saw MacCready facing the woods. Good to know that he was playing his role well. She slightly poked his shoulder, "You looking for me?"

The mercenary jumped a bit, either from her poking or her talking, then faced her. For a second there, he was staring at her like he had seen a ghost. It kind of made Amelia uncomfortable.

"Um, I was wondering if you could show me where I'll stay," MacCready said as his hand reached for the back of his hair.

"Oh... Right." Well, that was rude of her. She made another mental note: next time, take care of the paid gun first before anything else. "Sorry, I totally forgot."

"It's fine," he shrugged.

"Codsworth." The robot bounced its eyes as a hint that it caught her attention. "Can you lead Mr. MacCready to my house?"

"With pleasure, mum." If Codsworth was a human, she would bet that it would certainly hadn't left without exhibiting a proper bow.

"Thank you," she said as she reached for the robot's head and pat it. She needed more time to be alone. Couldn't entertain the mercenary yet. Not when she still had a lot of stories to tell Nate.

 

* * *

 

MacCready's eyes opened to see himself lying on the couch. Huh. He probably passed out there. He checked the sky from the window. It had turned calm blue with light fluffs of cloud up above, the sun's yellow rays barely influencing its color. Must be afternoon already.

Amelia was still not around, but Codsworth was by the kitchen area. A nice soda would be nice to shake his senses.

"Hey, Codsworth. You happen to have a bottle of Nuka-Cola there?"

"Ah yes, Mr. MacCready. Help yourself with it." The Mr. Handy held the bottle between its mechanical claws, placed it on the counter, and popped its cap off.

MacCready quickly snatched the bottle and the cap from the robot's claw, "I'll be taking that, thank you." He immediately headed for the door and went outside to exercise his numbing legs. He noticed that the bar was being set up by a few settlers. There must be a celebration later evening. He couldn't wait to have his sip of whiskey.

A kid was running to the backyard of the yellow conference house with a pair of thick gloves in his tiny palms, "General, wait for me!" Amelia must be there.

He trailed the kid's footsteps and saw his boss wearing the same dress but had gloves on her hands as she plowed the dirt. There were three children that were imitating her.

"Now using your finger," she said while raising one, "Stick it onto the dirt you have plowed, like-"

"Like sticking a finger in someone's ass?" one kid asked with his head tilted. He had taken a liking on that blonde jokester. The other two kids laughed along. Reminded MacCready of Little Lamplight. He mentally gave a salute to the blonde kid's witty remark, being a new version of his past self.

Amelia wore a smile on her face and slowly shook her head, then she sighed, "M'kay. Stick it like your sticking it in someone's ass, alright. Then," her fingers gently raised something in between. It was too small for him to see.

"Get your seed, and plant it on the hole you made. Gather the dirt around and mound it to cover the seed. Make sure you pat on the dirt to keep it compact, okay?"

"Yes, General," and the kids did so as she instructed. She took a pail that contained water, with a can floating above it. "Now scoop just enough water and let the holes of this can spray onto the mound you have created."

He could hear the kids 'ooh'-ing from how the can of water splitted into thin lines from the small holes drilled below. Amelia then passed the pail to the children, "Now you do it."

The children were doing exactly how Amelia did it, and was amused with how behaved the kids had been so far. She slipped her hands off her gloves and clapped, "Congratulations, everyone! Thank you for attending today's gardening class."

"Thank you, General!" The kids exclaimed and hugged her with their frail arms. Amelia almost broke a tear as she kissed each one of their heads before saying goodbye, imagining Shaun as a fellow child among the little ones. MacCready had been leaning on the bar's outer wall, observing her class as if he was a student himself, but refusing to participate and instead, finished his Nuka Cola. Amelia's body jumped from shifting to see her hired mercenary, "Since when have you been there?"

"Since the sticking in the ass," he smirked.

"Oh god."

MacCready chuckled, amused of her embarrassed state, "Didn't children of your time appreciate those jokes once in a while?"

"Absolutely not! It was a rather vulgar language, and a child in our time would certainly receive a spanking for that."

"Guess I must have deserved a beating than a spanking," MacCready supposed. "Do those kids have classes like those everyday?"

"Only every week. Their teachers rarely have vacant time. Preston manages defense and stands in my place while I'm gone, Sturges handles the tinkering and power supply, and Marcy, as much as she loves the children, needs to manage our crops and water supply. Good thing Mama Murphy was willing to pull the class into storytelling but..."

Those were too many names for MacCready to remember, considering that he hadn't met most of them yet. He still wanted her to continue, "But?"

"She tends to go beyond what a child should hear."

That, he didn't understand, too. "What's a kid supposed to hear, then?"

The breeze flew past them, rippling the skirt of Amelia's dress and lightly ruffling her curled hair. She tugged a lock behind her ear and gazed beyond the beautiful horizon past the lake. MacCready secured his cap by weighting his hand on top of it. The grass that barely covered the ground formed waves, brushing on their feet.

"These children... They don't deserve to hear any more stories about the vicious wasteland. Because they already know about it. They experience it in every passing day of their lives. And I wouldn't want them to grow up thinking that nothing good will ever change their lives. They need stories that will give them hope about the future. Stories that would encourage them to be a part of that change," Amelia vocalized, pouring her whole heart into it. MacCready would usually find her pre-war life principles ridiculous at this time, but this one was undeniably moving. No doubt that he'd let Duncan live in a place where a person like Amelia was in charge, just so he could become a better man than his own father.

"For the first time in forever, you're right," he replied.

Amelia cocked a brow from the 'first time in forever' phrase, but she was not that oblivious to notice how she had been a hell of a pain in his ass throughout their first days. She simply nodded, "Thank you. Oh and by the way, Preston told me there would be a celebration tonight. We have two more hours to prepare so I'd suggest that you proceed to the bathhouse now. Codsworth has already prepared your clothes back in the house."

MacCready obeyed, strutted back to her humble abode, and tucked his fresh new clothes in his arms. Codsworth also handed him a toothbrush with a pea-sized squeeze of minty toothpaste resting on its bristles. He helped himself with the stuff and refreshed himself in the bathhouse. There were other settlers bathing, too, and they were all separated in their respective cubicles. He didn't expect a radio to be installed inside the bathhouse, but he and the other bathing settlers hummed along the tune of "Dear Hearts and Gentle People" by Bob Crosby and The Bob Cats.

While walking back to Amelia's house, he was fluffing his hair with his fingers to further dry it. His other hand was working to loosening the buttons of his red flannel. He had a white undershirt, anyway. Codsworth instructed him to not bother washing his own clothes for the meantime because the robot butler will handle it. He honestly had no problem with that. A snub-nosed pistol was tucked in the waistband of his jeans, just in case something would ruin the night.

The neon lights of Sanctuary Bar were on, along with the light posts lined along the street. There was music and people cheering inside. The strong aroma of beer attracted him towards the bar, later finding himself sitted in one of the barstools. There was a globe-shaped thing on the ceiling that spun and emitted colorful lightshows to bring life to its shanty-like interior.

The barkeeper in his own pair of flannel and jeans slapped his shoulder as a form of manly greeting,  "Ah! You must be the General's bodyguard! What would'ja like to have? Everything is on the house for tonight!"

"I was thinking whiskey."

"I gotcha," he slurred. "Here's your whiskey. You're a good chap for keeping our General safe. Have some Dandy Boy Apples for that," and he plated some for the merc.

Just as soon as he could take a crunch on the apple, Preston entered the bar and escorted a lady in a blue overcoat and a tricorn hat, almost similar to Hancock's get-up. Woah. No way. _What was Amelia doing in that (no offense to Hancock) hilarious outfit?_ They walked towards the center, the settlers providing a space for them. The barkeeper got off his post and handed them two large mugs of beer.

Preston raised one. All of the rest, including Amelia and the barkeeper, followed him suit. Guess he had to ride with it, too. The tall Minuteman flashed a grin, "To the General and the Minutemen!"

"To the General and the Minutemen!"

Soft clinks of glasses echoed the bar as they all chugged their drink, then the music played by the band of talented settlers was back to where they left it. Amelia momentarily swayed her hips along the settlers who invited her into dancing, then scooted towards the bar stool beside MacCready. Her mug was spent to the bottom, a layer of white foam sliding down from its wide mouth.

"You okay, boss?" She grunted. Wasted. She was pretty hardcore for a trim woman (an inch smaller than him) to down a whole mug of beer. Preston approached them, his mug looking full as if his lips only touched the foam, and gently shook Amelia. MacCready shrugged as he met the Minuteman's eyes.

"Care to help me carry the General back home?"

"Sure."

MacCready turned the doorknob to open the door. He was expecting for Preston to take her inside, but he refused, "I'm not allowed inside without the General's consent. You take her to her bed."

"Okay, okay." Preston non-abrasively transferred Amelia's arm around MacCready's neck. The merc held her by her waist. She was unbelievably heavy for her built. Must be her overcoat.

"No funny business," Preston warned him before closing the door. MacCready may be a man with his needs, but he certainly had no interest in taking advantage of his client, especially now that he knew how she was like another atomic bomb that just dropped into this wasteland, always causing new things to every place she went. Another reason would be Codsworth watching.

The robot butler directed him to Amelia's bedroom. He had the same reaction over it as the kitchen, dining room, and living room. But first, his boss. Codsworth took off her hat and her overcoat. It also untied her boots while MacCready held her up. After she was only left in her frilled long sleeves and pants, he settled her down on her bed, tucking her inside her gray blanket.

"Good job, Mr. MacCready," Codsworth complimented in a hushed tone as the merc relaxed himself on the couch, his flannel acting as his blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact!
> 
> Amelia's height: 5'2"  
> MacCready's height: 5'3"
> 
> Boots would add up about an inch or two to their heights!


	11. Beyond the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is a song by Bobby Darin, and I know you won't miss it, especially if you remember a clown fish from your childhood.

Preston waved his hat towards the General aboard Trashcan Carla's covered caravan wagon along with MacCready.

"I'll be back before you know it!" she shouted with a smile to the Minuteman.

It was a complete bummer for her to leave Sanctuary Hills that early, but her cooperation was required by Paladin Danse. Her fingers fumbled on her holotags, which MacCready couldn't seem to avoid noticing. The merc preferred to keep his mouth shut, though. Amelia's head was still pounding from the hangover, so she wished MacCready had reserved extra patience for her. She was stupid enough to play the part of bold General in front of the settlers by downing a mug of beer that was bigger than both of her hands, and it was her first time doing that.

"How was it?"

MacCready cocked a brow, eyes still set on checking his rifle. Amelia didn't catch his gesture because he had his cap on.

"How was Sanctuary Hills?" Amelia asked again as she looped a strand of hair from her ponytail, nervous at requesting feedback.

The merc rested his rifle on his lap and relaxed his back on the packs and crates behind him. His fingers grazed his chin, focusing on his goatee as he thought hard of the right word to describe the place, "It was amazing, boss."

"Really?!"

The merc had both his brows up out of surprise from Amelia's sudden high-pitched voice, "I don't have to say it twice, do I?"

"Right," she said in almost a whisper. "Sorry, and thank you."

"No problem, boss."

Amelia's chest was fluttering with pride because of the good feedback. 'Amazing' was enough of a compliment for her job well done. Back in her days, she would often hear thoroughness through details of things she had done properly from not. She was expecting the same that moment, but the wasteland could have transformed people into the action type rather than the speaking type. Amelia understood and still wholeheartedly appreciated what the merc said.

"Care to tell me what's up the hill?"

Amelia's guard had been put down by the sudden question. She gulped, her fingers fumbling through her holotags, "Why?"

MacCready's crossed legs shifted places, "I enjoyed strolling around your settlement, honestly, but why keep that part a secret?"

She didn't answer but plainly avoided his gaze.

"Your house was restricted, but you let me in there. What made it different?"

"I-It's too personal. Please stop."

A sigh escaped MacCready's lips as he raised both of his hands to concede defeat. The sound of Brahmin hooves and wooden wheels scratching the concrete road filled the space between them. Amelia stole little glances on the merc, hoping for a hint of a smile to at least creep on his face. He would have been a good friend if she wasn't too cautious. Unfortunately, it had to stay that way.

"So, got any stories to tell? We still have plenty of time to waste."

He didn't move from his position and still had that default grumpy look on his face, but Amelia noticed his eyes shifted towards hers. She wore a shy smile, hopefully convincing the merc that she was just trying to be friendly with him.

He sighed again, "Well, what do you want to hear?"

She squashed her hands in between her knees as she leaned a bit forward, "Anything you're willing to tell me."

There was tapping from his foot, as if he was thinking hard for something nice he'd be able to tell her without exposing his karma. Patiently, Amelia waited for him to speak.

"I used to know a kid. Name's Knick Knack. He used to run a store, so he kept all sorts of junk laying around."

"And?"

"You remind me of him."

"Excuse me?" she scoffed with her arms crossed. MacCready was caught chortling, his hands holding his tummy.

"Oh man, don't you get it? You like collecting useless pieces of crap, like Knick Knack."

"For your information, if it weren't for that junk, then you wouldn't have your caps."

"But you would've had more room for more important stuff, and I might have helped you carry it."

"Don't worry, I wasn't asking," Amelia huffed. Selling junk was her last resort for earning caps if she didn't have any spare weapons to sell. Besides, Sturges told her a lesson that parts can be scrapped from junk, and those parts would always come in handy whenever she wanted something fixed, like her gun or armor. That technique would also let her save caps for more necessary needs than finding a mechanic.

Not even an hour had passed since they left Sanctuary Hills, and aside from her migraines, Amelia was slowly being killed by boredom as well. This kind of living was not the type of life she was accustomed to. Sacrifices of so much time were done just to finish her college requirements. When she became a mother to Nate's child, her schedule was a mess from juggling her law practice and taking care of Shaun (with a bit help from Codsworth). Now, everything she worked hard for were mostly put to waste. No law was standing firm in the wasteland; it was all about survival of the fittest, much like they were in another Stone Age.

"I'm just gonna lay down for a while," Amelia muttered as she curled herself on the wagon's wooden flooring, her head down to cancel the sun's rays from scorching her face.

"Go ahead, boss."

The ride had not been the smoothest given the constant bumps the wagon went through due to the uneven and cracking road. For MacCready and the rest of the caravan, this wasn't new, but for Amelia it definitely was. Her head felt like splitting from the migraine made worse by the bumps. Her supposed nap was not a good one either since her head would knock on the flooring every time the wagon jumped. Her groan interrupted the mercenary's whistling.

"Are we there yet?"

MacCready wheezed for a short moment, amused from a groggy and childlike Amelia. The back skin of her fingers wiped the blur out of her still-heavy eyes. Then, one big bump, and it tumbled the wagon out of its balance. The side where Amelia was sitting from raised in a height enough for her to fall over MacCready, along with the packs and luggage that her back had been leaning on. Out of sheer luck, all wheels had hopped back onto the road's surface, bringing back equilibrium to the wagon. The stocks toppled back to their places, and Amelia's back collapsed on the flooring with MacCready on top of her. Out of alertness, his arms were pinned onto the flooring to prevent himself from clashing with his boss. His cap, however, bounced off of his head towards the packs.

Amelia met the merc's vivid blue eyes, something she hadn't notice before. It had the same color as the oceans in Hawaii, where she served as a volunteer medic in the military base there and encountered her husband.

MacCready averted his gaze, his cheeks turning pink from embarrassment as he reached for his cap with a scrunched nose. Amelia sat up eventually, then proceeded to skittishly arranging the luggages at her side of the wagon to brush off her self-consciousness. She couldn't just stare at someone's eyes with their faces near each other. Only people with specific involvement do that!

The two original caravan guards inspected the stretched bonnet and the wheel. Both were in good condition, but upon looking back at the tracks, the enormous bump that caused the wagon's close tragedy was not the road's fault.

"Feral," MacCready mouthed as he saw the rotten, irradiated skin it possessed. Both caravan guards approached the lying feral on the road, one armed with a bayoneted pipe rifle. The merc clicked a 'tsk' as he perceived what they were going to do as a bad idea.

Amelia caught signal of MacCready loading his rifle and held onto hers. She swallowed her impatience as one of the guards kicked onto the feral. No movement so far, so it decided to pierce the feral's chest with its bayonet. The blade had been withdrawn, and the feral laid quiet. Presumed dead, the guards were planning to head back to the wagon when the feral grabbed hold of one guard's ankle.

MacCready swiftly lined his aim at the feral out of reflex as Amelia held her breath, but it was not even a second when the guard kicked the ghoul's grasp out of his ankle, and the other guard shot the threat by its head, its sound echoing within the eerie area.

"Get back here, you two!" Trashcan Carla yelled with distinguishable cracking in her voice, alarming the guards, Amelia, and MacCready of her fear. Looking through the gap where Trashcan Carla's seat was situated were distant, unearthly bodies snapping back to life.

"Oh my god, there's more of them," Amelia murmured as she positioned her finger in her shotgun's trigger slot. MacCready grumbled as he stomped out of the wagon, glancing here and there for a vantage point. Amelia followed the caravan guards to protect the wagon, Trashcan Carla, and her goods.

The ferals let out a gruesome shriek before dashing towards the guards and Amelia. She immediately loaded her shotgun then pulled the trigger twice, causing a feral ghoul to be knocked back onto the ground, its head tilted sideways to indicate its death. The two guards simultaneously shot over the approaching ferals with their pipe rifles, feet moving forward to avoid the enemies from being any closer with the caravan.

From a ruined building, MacCready positioned himself to finish off the ferals from the back. He spent only single shots in each feral, hitting them by their heads. The anger boiling the blood inside him somehow motivated him to create even more precise shots. He wanted all of those fucking ferals dead for real this time.

Amelia ran out of shells when a feral ran over her. A scream was waiting to be released from the deeper portion of her throat, but she fought it and grunted, "Not this time!"

She used her shotgun to bash its horrifying face with all her might until it tumbled to its bottom on the concrete ground. Without hesitation, her boot met the feral's jaw, snapping its head from its neck, then stomping onto its skull. Cracking was audible from the sole of her boot, along with the fleshy sounds from bits and fluids of its sickly grey brain splattered.

Once the extermination was over, the sweating guards checked on Trashcan Carla who was comforting her frenzied Brahmin from running away. Amelia hauled her fatigued self towards the wagon and sat by its edge, beside the panting MacCready. His cap was off, fingers combing his slick hair back in place. She scrubbed the sole of her boot onto the rough concrete in hopes of getting rid of the feral ghoul's traces.

"Saw what you did there. That was... one hell of a move," MacCready said, with panting in between.

"Took your sweet time to watch the action?"

"Hey, I killed five before they even got to you."

Amelia rolled her eyes, "Show-off."

"I have the skill, so it's justified."

"Okay, fine, you win."

"You didn't tell me this was a competition," he smirked.

"It's not. But thank you for complying with the job I paid you for, Mr. Mercenary," Amelia replied as she boarded the wagon. MacCready frowned at the sarcastic formality while he followed her.

For the rest of the ride, there was nothing in Amelia's mind except for the color of MacCready's eyes. The calming blue negated the impending attack cooking within her, bringing her back to Pearl Harbor.

_It was noon, and she was wearing a trainee nurse's outfit. Her hair was knotted into a tight bun secured by a white nurse cap. One of the resident navy nurses was kind enough to tour her around the medical center, leaving her at her assigned ward. She was 20 years old that time, yet it was her first to be exposed with the reality of the Sino-American war. Not many soldiers were confined by that time, but she caught glimpse of those at the ICU with their torso as their only part barely surviving, several tubes connected to their body ducts to keep them alive. The ward she was stationed in handled minor injuries, and it was where she practiced her bandaging skills._

_A soldier sat on the chair across her table without any warning. She attempted to eye him with sass, but not long melted her like ice cream under the hot sun as she saw the man had toned muscles, biceps fitting on his white shirt's short sleeves. He had a tan complexion that complemented his dark Ivy League cut hair roughly brushed to the side by fingers, and a dog tag that sat on his broad chest. Amelia didn't understand why he had that smirk until she noticed the pressure on her lower lips. She had been biting it._

_"Am I in the right place?" the soldier asked with his olive eyes staring over Amelia's pair of hazels._

_"Yes. Here with me- I mean- That's if... you have anything needing simple aid," she cleared with her throat._

_He let out a deep yet mesmerizing chuckle, "I do. I have this... Cut over here," then he revealed a bleeding wound that streaked across his right palm. The sight of blood oozing through its opening alarmed Amelia to gently reach onto the hand, using her other hand to apply pressure onto it with a clean towel._

_"Taking your chance on me?"_

_Amelia flustered, "I'm only doing my job, sir."_

_"Corporal Nathan Williams, but I'd prefer you call me Nate." She smiled from such a beautiful name and an honorable rank, but her sight remained on the hand she was tending._

_After applying pressure on his wound, she prepared two metal tubs: one with lukewarm water on it and a clean towel, and another with only minimal water to dampen its own clean towel. Amelia used the latter to clean his wound, then brushed soap gently on his palm to sanitize it from possible infectious agents._

_"What's your name?"_

_Her cheeks became red from realizing that she had not introduced herself back, which could be quite rude. But as she tilted her head to meet his gaze, he had nothing but a goofy smile on his face. Smooth, but he looked desperate to sweep her out of her feet._

_She giggled from his facial expression as she cleaned off the soap suds off his palm with the water from the second tub, "Amelia Langley, Law student, but you can call me Millie."_

_"That's adorable."_

_"I know. Children back at my place couldn't mention my name properly so they stuck with Millie."_

_"Children... Referring to your kids?"_

_"What?" She almost choked, "No, no. I don't have kids yet- I mean- I'm willing to have some- but I- What I'm trying to say is... The neighborhood children I used to play with when I was younger called me Millie."_

_Nate was entertained with how she rambled her words, making Amelia more embarrassed than ever. First day of training and she was already showing how a mess she could be. She zipped her mouth shut as she dressed his injured hand with a sterile roll of gauze bandage._

_"There, all done!"_

_Before she let go of his injured hand, Nate's good hand reached for hers and softly planted his lips on its skin. His breath was still warm on it as he flashed a charming smile at the blushing Amelia, "Meet you at the docks by 5. I know a great place for dinner."_

_Her heart banged loudly inside her chest. She silently wished for him to not hear the pounding as she nodded in a swoon._

_"Catch you later, Millie."_

_"You too, Nate..." and she couldn't believe that her date that night would be her partner for the rest of her life._

"For the rest of my life. What a joke," she muttered under her breath as she wiped unnoticed tears from her cheeks. Stuck in her head was an image of Nate, in his corporal uniform, waving over her as his bare toes buried on the white sand. Someday, perhaps, they would meet again, and at the back of her mind she hoped for it to be soon. In peripheral vision, MacCready pretended to not see whatever his boss was into again to shed himself of the burden.

Trashcan Carla knocked onto her wooden seat to get both Amelia and MacCready's attention, "Here's Corvega. It's about time you two start unboarding my wagon."

The duo leaped off the wagon, Amelia walking towards Trashcan Carla to receive their payment for extra guarding. MacCready was thankful that this one was something his boss didn't do for free. They deserved the caps after the trouble with the ferals, anyway. Hell, even extra.

Trashcan Carla's wagon went ahead the road as Amelia observed the towering factory in front of them, "Corvega Assembly Plant."

"What did Paladin Tin Can want here?"

Her fingers tapped on the screen of her Pip-Boy as her eyes squinted onto the message the recon team transmitted, "A flux sensor. And it's  _Danse_ , not Tin Can."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts:
> 
> 1\. Yesss, I based my F!SS name from Amelia Earhart, including her nickname Millie (though it was originally spelled as Meelie). In her case, she got that nickname because her younger sister could not mention Amelia properly. Typical cutesy girl speaks!
> 
> 2\. In Chapter 1, Amelia travelled to Diamond City through hitching with a caravan, but it took longer than the usual travel time since she had to provide her services as compensation, much like what she did here with MacCready.
> 
> And yes, I added wagons. Figured the caravans deserved to have those since based from the game's settlement building, people can already supply themselves with wood and cloth.
> 
> Oh, and I'll be tweaking some stuff here and there. This is a fanfiction after all. But I promise to do my best in sticking with the lore because I know how cringe it is to stray away from it without warnings. If only you guys could see my 300+ photo album of references for this fanfic... Crazy, right?!


	12. Accept It or Leave It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited a line in Chapter 2! Just saying. Enjoy reading (if you are enjoying).
> 
> I exist in tumblr again: lonekatze.tumblr.com

A rough week had passed since Amelia was assigned for a Brotherhood of Steel mission in Corvega Assembly Plant. She was commended for her immediate compliance and was designated to different places for further scavenging of tech needed by Scribe Haylen and further "cleansing of the damned Commonwealth" as how Knight Rhys dubbed it. The knight still had his eyes on them after Corvega, especially on MacCready whom he had branded as someone peskier than a goddamn radroach just by the look on his face whenever they came back with only minor injuries. Amelia did her best to contain her mercenary, even sneaking an aged The Unstoppables comic book she had discovered from one of the old police desks in the station to shut him up.

It was all thanks to that Truth or Dare they played during their walk to Kendall Hospital. Amelia brought it up in hopes of calming themselves, especially herself, before diving head first to that small super mutant camp. She started it with favorites, and the merc went along by asking her the same. Both had dodged the personal questions, even going to the lengths of doing a stupidly hilarious Brahmin-chewing-grass impression in the middle of the road. At least she learned that the merc can be bribed with comic books. Surprisingly, he had the same interest as her Nate, declaring Grognak the Barbarian as his favorite comic book hero. It left her at slight daze, coming back to her senses when a super mutant suicider came out with a ticking mini nuke while MacCready sneakily pulled her up to high ground so they would put her sharpshooting skill to practice.

The yellow moon was round in the quiet evening sky. Amelia's eyes were fixated to the celestial body that, even after the catastrophic Great War that happened here on Earth, still remained as beautiful as it was before. She thought that its beauty was pitiful over the barren land, but it might be just the right blessing that the people of this era were holding onto. She might as well hold onto it, too.

"Everything will be okay," she mentally chirked herself up.

MacCready was done scavenging the warehouse of Bedford Station. To his luck, there were 10mm and .308 ammo boxes inside a stray yellow crate, along with a pack of duct tape that his boss would definitely fight for. The supplies were not yet enough to calm himself down, though. He was pissed at the fact that the bastard Knight Rhys had toyed with them. Son of a gun let the two of them go in circles. Bedford Station could have been their first assignment instead of Corvega Assembly Plant, Kendall Hospital, and the other places they'd been that were scattered in dots around Amelia's map. At least that way, it could have been more organized and easier for both of them travel-wise.

Intentionally being rough in spitting and stomping over the dead ferals, MacCready approached Amelia only to find her basking in the moonlight. Her eyes were set deep within the round yellow, then slowly closing her lids as her lips formed into a curve that he registered as a smile. Flutters formed inside his stomach. He had always disliked the dangers brought by the night, but what he was witnessing was far beyond from the very definition of "danger" in the wasteland. It was as if Amelia was a fallen angel that the heavens would like to take back. Lucy crossed his mind. He would never let anything like that happen again.

"Ow!"

Something hit Amelia's head. Looking down with a palm on the throbbing area, she saw a pack of duct tape. Did this fall from the sky? That would be far from possible, so she glanced by her side to see MacCready with a mouth covering his hand.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Sorry," MacCready choked while restraining his laughter, "Something came up."

Amelia was about to throw back the pack of duct tape to him as sweet revenge, but she remembered: it's a  _pack of duct tape_. No way she would let anyone's hands on it.

It had only been two weeks of them venturing together, and Amelia had already studied how childish MacCready could be. A comic book to zip his foul mouth, and throwing a pack like they were in a snowball fight. What was he, five? And with his temper, he could suddenly switch to a 40-year old suffering mid-life crisis. Speaking of which, she never really asked him about his age.

"You should already know by now that I don't like travelling at night. We could be walking right into an ambush and we'd never see it coming," MacCready pushed with hard concern in his tone.

Night time used to be the most relaxing time for Amelia. That was before the war. But in the wasteland? She had learned how to actually be scared of the dark. Nevertheless, she put her foot down, "Patience. We're almost there."

Starlight Drive-In was the nearest beacon of hope for the two. With its almost identical fortification as Sanctuary Hills, it was enough for them to doze off without keeping watch. Amelia had no time to entertain the settlers, so she humbly apologized as MacCready quietly followed her to the dining area.

"I'll be by the metal shack over there. It's the one with the Minutemen flag," Amelia languidly said, leaving a gentle pat on MacCready's shoulder as he licked the sauce off his plate. Probably not the best image of him to leave tonight.

The breeze had gone colder than it was before. Good thing he had his scarf around his neck. A lit Grey Tortoise cigarette was the great meal-finisher, and it certainly added warmth that was lacked by his body and his scarf. After his last puff, he threw the cigar's butt, grounding it with his boot's heel. 'Come to think of it. She never even had a bite,' thought MacCready. Knocking on the bar's counter, he requested for the General's meal. Now to find that shack...

He had to check twice if it was the right house, so long as it had the Minuteman flag. The tray between his clasps was quickly getting cool because of the climate. It would be a shame, given the amount of food served exclusively for his boss. His knuckles knocked on the metal door, its surface bouncing a bit, and waited for half a minute before it was opened.

"Oh. C-Come in," she greeted with her eyes down the floor while drying her wet hair swept to the side using a towel. From her dark Brotherhood of Steel suit issued by Paladin Tin Can, she changed into a white shirt that had a blue printed Vault 111 on her right chest and a pair of dark jeans that had been poorly patched with mismatching pieces of fabric. She sat on her bed, his eyes unexpectedly darting towards her quivering lips. Was she feeling cold?

"I got you dinner. They love you so much they gave you a full course meal," he teased, placing her tray on the vacant nightstand beside her bed. "You okay?"

She nodded, then soon jerked her body out if chills that surprised him, "W-Water's cold."

He almost shove the tray on her arms but did so without being too harsh or offensive, "Take a bite. Might warm you up."

Her trembling fingers held on the spoon, and she scooped a heap of squirrel bits into her mouth. "Mmm," she moaned with her eyes closed, her shoulders slouching to a relax. That was an act of savoring her meal, but MacCready's face got all tato red from the sound. She's a woman, and at the end of the day, he's always a man. He couldn't believe how unprofessional he'd gone there to almost lust over his own boss.

"You want some?" Amelia offered, almost incomprehensible from speaking with her mouth full. It made the merc's situation even worse. She  _was_  kinda cute with her cheeks puffed like that. The spoon had a steaming heap of food in it, and it was already pointed towards his lips. Could be embarrassing being spoon fed by his client literally, but he accepted it. Food is food, after all.

"I'm not a kid anymore," he huffed back with his mouth full. Amelia giggled, her hand covering her full mouth. If she wasn't careful, she might choke on her own produce. She swallowed before responding.

"I don't know. You act like you're five sometimes."

"I'm twenty-two," he answered with a glare after ingesting. And there she went, choking without any call. He immediately handed her a glass of purified water that she chugged bottomless.

"No way. You're forty!"

"The hell, boss. What good would lying to you about my age bring me? Extra caps?" That sounded good enough for him. Maybe he should had done it.

"So that means, if were not going to count the years I've been frozen, then... I'm a year older than you?"

"Look who's bluffing now," he hissed with his arms crossing on his chest and his jaw clenched.

"I'm not  _bluffing_. I  **am**  twenty-three before the bombs fell."

"You look fu-  _ugh_ \- freaking eighteen with that face and hot figure."

Her lips pursed. Slowly, a pink color developed on the apples of her cheeks. He didn't mean for that to slip from his tongue, but knowing how runny his mouth could be...  _Damn._

At the end of the day, he really was just a man- a man with a clumsy mouth.

 

* * *

 

"Good work, soldier," Paladin Danse praised Amelia that confidently stood in front of him, her fist on her chest as a form of respect. The paladin, for this time, did not return the gesture and simply rewarded her with a proud smile. Almost like a father to his son that won a baseball match by home run. "Now I've received orders that we're both to report to the Prydwen. It's about time you meet more of your fellow brothers and sisters."

"The Prydwen?"

"It's our main base up in the sky by Boston airport. A vertibird will fetch us as soon as we're both ready, so let's suit up-"

"Wait!" Her hand clung onto his arm's metal plating. "I do not mean to disrespect, Paladin, but I still have business to do regarding my son. Regarding the Institute."

Amelia had been contemplating about this overnight. Hours consumed thinking about Dr. Amari instead of counting woolly sheep jumping over fences. She realized she had enough time off for the real reason of her existence in this wasteland: to find her baby. Further delving deep into fear of what could come would no longer help her progress. All she had to do was to take the leap.

He placed his setting foot back to his stationary position, facing Amelia. "If it's valuable to our cause and it involved our enemy, then it is a decision I respect," he formally responded that let Amelia exhale the air she was holding inside of her. "However, I am still required to report back to our elder. Should you wish to board along, it is allowed, given that you are a valuable member of us. We could drop you to wherever you are headed."

"My target location is Diamond City, Paladin." Yes. Nick Valentine could have been rusting his mechanical joints to get on with her case.

"Very well, soldier. Follow me."

Paladin Danse and Amelia, along with the tailing MacCready, mounted the stairs to wait for the vertibird by the station's helipad. Nostalgia hit her once again as she boarded it. Last time she saw such up close was back at Hawaii, when Nate toured her around their base by her second day there, and when he boarded it for his transfer to Alaska right after their rushed wedding and honeymoon. That was a wild summer for her, marrying Nate after four weeks of flirting, dinner dates, Sunday picnics, and stolen make out sessions.

Her reminiscing was interrupted by a tight grip on her arm, only to see MacCready in such a lousy posture with his face blue. Motion sickness, perhaps? She'd often catch him gagging, but kept it as discreet as possible, probably because he didn't want any of the soldiers inside to notice and make fun of him. They'd already been unwelcoming enough to his presence by glaring daggers at him for being a civilian who offered no help to their cause.

Glimpsing outside the vertibird was a sad view. The Boston she knew- bustling streets crowded with cars and people of different age and statuses, whether they were there for fun or for work, all gone in just a moment of atomic annihilation- the people who walked the same steps as hers, who ate and sipped coffee as the same Slocum Joe's as hers, the people whom she had worked with before. How evil scientific breakthroughs could be when fallen to the hands of greedy people of the government. Civilization she once belonged to was brought down to ashes  _just like that._  Great to see that the towers were still standing, but they had proven no use anymore. Just another shelter or base with all its pre-war glory buried along the rubble.

An unintentional gasp came out of her trembling lips, and her other hand gripped back at MacCready's, tighter than his on her arm. She fought a tear because now was no time to embarrass herself in front of soldiers. She had to fool them that she was capable. An image of a wastelander, but with a cause willing enough to face the Commonwealth's boogeyman.

The vertibird landed on an open area near The Fens. A Diamond City guard posted there scurried away from the landing site, hiding behind a makeshift plywood barrier that had an arrow directing the town to travelers interested about The Great Green Jewel, and had his own pistol drawn with a shaky grip. Amelia was slowly guiding the weakened merc out of the vertibird. She caught the lancer pilot stifle a laugh, and without thinking twice about ranking, she shot him a look that basically told him to shut the fuck up because he wasn't helping.

"I'll be leaving you here, Initiate Williams. Meet me back at the police station whenever you're ready to meet the elder. Ad victoriam, soldier," Paladin Danse informed with a Brotherhood of Steel salute. Amelia conducted the same salute, her chest out and chin up to exert respect and gratefulness for the ride.

"Ad victoriam, Paladin. Thank you."

Amelia and MacCready casually walked towards the town's market. Too casual to notice the offbeat stares and murmurs exchanged by the people as they passed by. She didn't know why, but MacCready knew well enough about their reaction. Amelia could be wearing simple clothes based on her perception, but the merc, along with the others around, couldn't get their eyes off the Brotherhood of Steel logo sported behind her bomber jacket.

Piper was there too, her jaw dropped as she watched how swagger Blue was with the jacket she'd been wearing- and with MacCready out of all people?! Her old friend did not even wave a 'Hi' to her, and just... kept walking to the alleys. The merc did not leave her attention hanging, though. Insolent enough to pass a wink at her direction.

The duo stopped by Home Plate, Amelia hurriedly sliding the keys by the door's lock, swinging it open, and pushing her back towards the door to close it. If the people thought she was a bold Brotherhood of Steel soldier walking within their territory, it certainly did not cross her mind. MacCready slowly shook his head out of disappointment, and let his bottom sink onto the red couch without any permission from the boss.

"Let me guess, you're wondering why they were all looking weird at you," he said, eyeing the electrically-lit Nuka-Cola Girl wall poster in front of him. She didn't put an effort to answer, so he continued, "Your jacket gave you away."

Amelia lugged the jacket out of her arms, clipped it between her fingers, and observed its front and back. And there it was, the insignia of the military group.

"So?"

"Seriously?" Unbelievable. She practically had her trust invested to the group in only a week of working for them, and to top it more-  _for free._  Without a single cap ending up in her cap sack.

Her arms were crossed in a manner that she was about to engage in a debate, but no sirree, it would be an argument he couldn't win no matter how right he was. After all, he had lost all his energy while in that fricking vertibird. Heights were okay, but in a moving vehicle up in the air? Bail him out.

Somehow, his boss read his mind, and dispensed a bottle of Nuka-Cola from a yellow crate across the ottoman his feet were placed on, "Here. You must have drained yourself from motion sickness."

"Aw, you shouldn't have," he mocked, complete with the hand fanning to Amelia. She simply rolled her eyes and gave him the 'take it or I'm going to spill this on you' look. She certainly wasn't going to deal with his attitude, so he just took the bottle and drank it.

She sighed, "You can stay here and rest for a while. I gotta talk to Nick Valentine about... stuff. Don't go rummaging around my belongings, except for the foods that are out by the kitchen area."

"Yeah yeah, heard you loud and clear." God, she sounded like a mom. He never met his own parents, but from her impression of it, he wouldn't like reuniting with his own anytime soon.

Another sigh, then she left for the door.


	13. Save Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited the description! Check me out in tumblr and join me in my Fallout hype pls: [lonekatze.tumblr.com](https://lonekatze.tumblr.com/)

A woman in all red stood outside Amelia's front door, hands on her hips and foot tapping on the floor. And it was not just any woman; it was Piper, and she wasn't happy. Easy to tell at first glance.

“Oh, you should’ve knocked,” Amelia advised with the thought that Piper's grumpiness had nothing to do with her, and it pissed the reporter even more.

“That’s what I get from you? An _oh?_ Blue,” she snapped her fingers a few times in front of Amelia’s stunned face, “Were you walking in another dimension back in the market, or did you intentionally ignore me?”

Pursed lips were the only response she got. And it certainly wasn’t enough, just by the way she crossed her arms on her chest and cocked her brow up. Last time she saw Amelia, she was an avenging mother thawed out of ice, ready to take on to the Institute no matter how scared as shit she was deep inside. But now, a possible asset of the Brotherhood of Steel with no word about her son? It worried her, and nothing would feed her curiosity except for an explanation (and for a paper she could write about the sudden appearance of the said group).

“I’m deeply sorry, Piper. I had a lot of things in mind." Amelia said with her eyes casted down, anxiously stuffing her hands in the pocket of her pants. “But I’m willing to tell you everything I know. Just please let me talk to Nick first.”

Knowing Amelia, no matter how hard she tried to conceal her pain and suffering, her body language always gave it away. Piper relaxed, settling with the agreement made, and stretched her arms to reach for the pocketed hands.

“Hey, Blue. I’m right here, I got you.” She held the woman’s hands in her own, circling thumbs onto her skin, “Mind if I tag along?”

The way the two women held hands while walking to Nick’s office was oddly satisfying. Back in Amelia’s time, women were clingy, but not too much, especially on each other. Not like this. Pre-war women would often reserve space for their insecurities, or for frequent occasions for when a man would attempt to sweep them off their feet. Or an implication of homosexuality, a taboo before, unless they were thickly blood-related. She had nothing against homosexuality, having herself exposed to it in college. She would never forget her friends that were lesbians, and she was their biggest fan, having supported them through thick and thin. Though she had long accepted that love is love for a pair of lonely people, she couldn’t imagine herself in the same situation yet because she had only planted her sight and her life on one man, and that one man was Nate.

The same sinking feeling she had in every nostalgia returned. She remembered their faces, like drawing portraits of them in her mind along with every detail. One had a ginger-colored hair, and the other was a brunette with a mole at the apple of her right cheek. Both of them loved wearing cherry red lipsticks, and they often seized little minutes they had at the halls to hold hands.

_Did they survive the bombs? Were they able to evacuate in a vault? Did they suffer the same thing she went through? Would she ever come across them today?.._

Suddenly, her grasp grew cold. Piper’s hand was gone, roughly knocking on the Valentine Detective Agency’s rickety door. Perhaps it was a first for Amelia to witness Ellie throwing a tantrum upon opening the door, but it quickly vanished when her eyes met the secretary's own.

“Oh dear, it’s been ages! Come in,” Ellie perked up, letting the two in the office. Nick Valentine jolted from his seat from the sight of Amelia, but upon Piper’s entrance, his shock withdrew, settling with just blowing out smoke.

Piper seemed to catch his action, “Dang, Nicky, you’re that disappointed to see me?”

“Do me a favor and spare me the questions while I tend my guest here.”

And so she backed off a bit, palms raised in defeat and sat on the couch parallel to the detective. Amelia nodded as a greeting to the synth friend and sat on a chair in front of his desk. Ellie offered both women a cup of coffee before returning to the files she was organizing. Time was definitely essential, and it wasn’t something Nick would waste, “Here for Dr. Amari?”

“Yeah. I think I’m all set to meet her.”

“Hoo boy,” Piper whistled, “So we’re really riding this crazy brain train, huh?”

But Nick plainly ignored her, “I have to go to the Memory Den either way. Gonna introduce you to Dr. Amari. But if you want to head there together, just say so, kid.”

“I already have someone with me.”

“Yeah, and it’s that sassy MacCready guy out of all possible company,” Piper snorted. Nick’s carved brow lines shot up in the most human way possible of displaying surprise. Amelia did not object- her hired merc was sassy, alright.

“Now that’s news. Never imagined you to team up with him considering his _cute_ mouth,” Nick said, disbelief rolling through his synthetic tongue which he tried hard to supress. Having judged by both she considered as friends, she resorted to playing with the hem of her shirt, not wanting to be affected by their point of view.

Nick's cigarette had already been spent, so he dragged its foot on his yellow ashtray, stood up, and popped the collar of his trench coat. Since the ashtray was beside Amelia, the stick’s remaining smoke trailed on her face, and she swatted away with a hand. Nick chuckled at her response. Still the typical good housewife trope from before the war.

“Guess I’ll see you there tomorrow afternoon. Don’t protest, kid. You know I always give you time to prepare. It’s Kellogg’s brain we’ll be dealing with tomorrow, and I hope you remember that.” And there he was again with his fatherly tone that Amelia had trouble acknowledging or dismissing. She hummed a yes and finished her already lukewarm coffee before heading out with Piper.

“Blue, I hope you didn’t forget.” was the perfect cue for Amelia to remember that she still owed Piper her knowledge. A promise is a promise.

They headed straight to Publick Occurrences and stayed there talking for hours before dinner time.

 

* * *

 

If his math was right, it’s his fifth time touring himself inside Home Plate. MacCready managed to catch forty winks after his boss left, but the still silence of the house gave him the unnerving feeling. Felt like the walls could eat him anytime or something. For his sixth time pacing around, he gave the stairs that led to the upper floor a try. As he suspected, it was his client’s sleeping area. He couldn't exactly call it a room since it was just a floor hanging open. And it had a strong smell of Abraxo. No doubt the bedsheets were out-of-this-world neat. There was also a teddy bear placed on the pillow, like it was sleeping there. _Look who’s childish now._ MacCready never slept with a stuffed toy ever since his youth, and the fact that his boss was sleeping with one could be an effective blackmail. Beside the bed was a nightstand that held a yellow lamp, a working Wakemaster alarm clock, and a baby rattle.

The rattle was a sudden blow to his gut. Maybe he wouldn’t use the bear as blackmail anymore. His boss was a grieving mother, and the bear could have been her only resort for the nights she bawled her eyes out crying for her lost son, much like how the rattle existed there.

Damn. That made him want to smoke.

Alongside the nightstand was about two- no, three- steps of stairs to another floating floor. The thing was miraculously stable, creaking very little from his boot steps. And there in front of him was the open gates of heaven: an actual cigarette dispenser. He hadn’t really seen Amelia smoke, so he didn’t know why the dispenser was there. His finger flipped open the hatch, and a pack was already there waiting for him. It made him a bit giddy, appreciating how lucky he had been to be catered of his needs without asking for it.

Slightly across the dispenser was a chair and a coffee table with two used candles adhered to its surface. He sat there, licked fire to the cigar with his lighter, and melted from the relief it brought- though it only lasted for a second. MacCready realized that maybe he was lucky today, but before, he was a sore loser. Must have been Capital Wasteland intentionally kicking him out of its map. What a mean world to just take his wife like that, and now, even planning to take his kid from his arms through an illness only hell knew of its origin.

A tick from the Nuka-Cola cap clock snapped him back to his stick which was already at the band. “Tsk,” he clicked as he brashly pressed its filtered butt on the unused ashtray he barely noticed before.

Maybe there’s nothing wrong with grabbing a few drinks from Dugout Inn, he thought. Before he was able to touch the doorknob, it turned, revealing Amelia who was holding a large bowl of noodles with one hand.

“You’re awake! Um, I got you noodles from Takahashi-san. Piper told me this is your favorite,” she shyly said, toning down her voice after her astonished greeting. MacCready ignored her embarrassing way of saying hello because he was curious from another thing she had said.

“Say that again.”

Amelia got nervous, “W-What?”

“Noodles from?”

“Noodles from Takahashi-san...”

Well, he be damned. An odd yet seemingly authentic oriental melody in MacCready’s ears. He couldn’t understand why, but she mentioned Takahashi’s name in the same accent the robot had, “How the hell did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That!” He pointed at her lips, his eyes wide like under chem influence. Amelia didn’t understand his rambling. Not to mention that she was offended, mostly because she thought she had embarrassed herself once more.

She slapped his hand out of her face, “Just take the noodles, damn it!”

They sat quietly, facing each other on her dining table. MacCready was noisily slurping his noodles, droplets of broth flying over Amelia’s direction. Yet she couldn’t get mad, because there could have been a point in her past that she had looked that ridiculous in front of her Nate. _Oh, Nate…_

“Anything wrong, boss?” MacCready must have heard her sigh in between his loud slurps.

She shook her head, “Nothing.”

“You know what we could really use?” the merc said while chewing the last swirl of noodles in his mouth and swallowed, “A drink.”

“No.”

“Come on, boss, I know a place.”

“If it’s Dugout Inn, then it’s a straight no.”

MacCready smirked, “So you’re reading minds now, huh? I’ve always wondered what future awaits me.”

“Stripped off of caps is what awaits you if you still insist drinking. We need to get enough sleep because we’ll be going back to Goodneighbor tomorrow.”

“Damn, boss. So grumpyyy,” he teased while reaching to pinch her cheek- **Wow** , that was overwhelmingly soft to touch.

“Quit it, I’m not your kid,” and counted it as her second slap to his hand for tonight. MacCready was always amused by the look on her face whenever she’s teased, and it was even more satisfying when her cheeks flush and her lips pout. Every time she did that, it made him feel young again, like he was back in Little Lamplight with his most genuine friends. Ah, good old days.

Amelia was kind enough to lend a comfy pillow and thick blanket on the couch he would be sleeping on. He had no complaints after finding out for himself earlier that his boss only owned one bed. Though it could fit both of them, there certainly was not a chance for them to share it. _Not a chance._

“If you need anything, I'm upstairs, but please don’t try to shove a pillow on my face or anything similar to that,” Amelia said. As if MacCready would be down to doing it. Well… He would have done it as a prank, _if_ he wasn't on a job. But he's a mercenary, and he should know his limits of being playful. Doing that would only cause him to lose his work. Losing his work equaled to losing his earned caps. No freaking way.

“Got it,” he replied with a tip of his cap. And so his boss mounted the stairs, witnessing her footsteps from above him as he silently wished that the floating platform won’t collapse or else he would die. Yikes. He took a gulp of his own saliva before closing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

_“Daddy?”_

_That voice. Duncan._

_MacCready was standing in the vast void with nothing but a lighter and pistol in his hands. He crinkled his toes, tried to feel any texture from the surface his feet were on. Strange enough, there was nothing to feel._

_“Daddy!”_

_“Duncan, where are you?” he shouted back into the void. No echo._

_“Daddy, help me. Please.”_

_His legs revved into a run. The void left him no clue to where he was heading, but he kept his faith on the little flame his lighter was producing._

_“Come get me, daddy!”_

_He tried tracing the direction from where Duncan’s voice came from, “I will, champ. Hold on!”_

_“Daddy, I’m right here…” and waves of chills scattered throughout his body from his son sobbing those words out. He ran faster than his current speed and eventually ended up in an underground railway. Duncan was there, crawling towards his father._

_“See? I’m right here, Duncan. I got you.”_

_Just when he was about to reach for his boy, blue boils started popping from Duncan’s skin, putting him into extreme pain. The little boy cried out loud._

_“No, no… Shh, Duncan,” he hushed as his trembling hand cupped the poor boy’s chubby cheek that were sucking inwards._

_Then, they heard a raspy groan. It was too familiar that it instantly made him embrace his son around his arms. With a shaky hand and a heavy gulp in his throat, he frantically pointed his pistol at the threat waiting in the dark._

_Another groan let out, then appearing in front of them was a feral ghoul. He was dreaded by its ghastly sight as it slowly dragged its twisted limbs past the railway’s metal tracks. He was going to shoot, but- wait._

_The feral was familiar… Familiar in the sense that it ached his heart. It was wearing a dirty pink ratty skirt, and on its rotten scalp poked strands of dead hair that looked blonde in color._

_He malfunctioned, his feet planted on his spot until the feral was only a few inches away from his face._

**_Mutfruit._ **

_The feral’s breath smelled like mutfruit. The very same scent as the ones he planted back in his farm. He blinked a few times, and he could not believe his eyes. The feral’s irises were emerald green, just like-_

_“Lucy.”_

_His mention of her name triggered the feral into biting his face._

“Fuck,” his intake of breath was as sharp as a hiss while his eyes fired open, like a trigger being pulled. His hands flew to his face, feeling each spot for any bite marks. There was none.

Well, that was a pissing way to start his morning: a cuss which he promised never to say out loud. MacCready grumbled as he brought himself up the couch. Lucy was his beautiful angel, and it deeply hurt him how his mind would convert her into a nightmare. She didn’t deserve it- **she never did** , and he had to fix his head for it.

He was out of the void. The room he was in, the living room, was bright from its bulb, not to mention the tall lamp huddled on its corner. Like they said, there is nothing a good breakfast could fix. So he snaked his feet inside his boots, not bothering to tie the laces. He charily walked to the kitchen area where he almost bumped to his boss who was in a hurry. With her hair wet.

He gulped.

With only a towel wrapped around her body.

They gawked at each other for a good minute as time seemed to slow down. They were catching tiny details from each other like the lump stuck in MacCready's throat and the beads of water sliding down Amelia's pristine skin. But she was the first to break their gaze by looking down. Shoot. At that rate, he would've preferred her to look up because she might notice his morning wood.

“Um, I-I forgot something,” she timidly said, her hands clutching tight onto her towel like it was going to fall…

“Y-Yeah,” he answered, absent-mindedly brushing his hair with his fingers. Back again in their ‘he’s a man, she’s a woman’ situation, and it had escalated into a far more awkward scenario they never expected to come quick.

“Would you mind getting out of the way?” she asked with the same tone, but this time, her hazel eyes greeted his own pair of blue. Amelia being barefooted added by her lack of thick clothing made her a bit smaller in MacCready's eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he remained mute as he paved the way for her.

By noon, they set out towards Goodneighbor through a route Amelia saved in her Pip-Boy’s map. Amelia had grown comfortable into wearing her device around the merc, seeing how she could trust him, and given his knowledge of the story behind it. MacCready fully supported her decision of sticking with the shadows so they could save on ammo and energy. The travel was excruciatingly slow, all the more nerve-wracking, but at least they arrived in the small town without any injuries.

As soon as Amelia set foot in town, there was a force that had pushed her towards Memory Den, unaware that she was already brisk-walking from the entrance towards it. MacCready tried to follow with his knees aching to keep up from their prolonged crouching on the way there combined with the cold breeze rusting his joints. Then, they were stopped by a casually whistling ghoul. He never did once attempt to remove his tricorn hat, huh? And yes, it was none other than Mayor Hancock.

“Well hello there, Sunshine,” he greeted with a tip of his hat and a wink towards Amelia. “Why the rush?”

“I have to go to Memory Den.”

“Oh, the Memory Den,” he repeated, decrypting her purpose of going there, “I see. Wait, is that MacCready?”

MacCready tipped his cap, mocking Hancock’s earlier greeting, “The one and only.”

Hancock chuckled hoarsely, playfully slithering an arm around MacCready’s shoulders, “So you’ve been hanging out with my Sunshine here, eh? No touching. Finders, keepers. That clear to ya?”

The merc simply rolled his eyes, and they laughed like the good times.

The two were obviously itching to catch up with each other, so Amelia bugged out. Deep breathes, then she pushed the front doors, entering Memory Den. Nick Valentine was already there, his slack form barely exposed by the dim light and his lit cigarette pursed between his cold lips, “Where’s your gun?”

“Out there reuniting with Mayor Hancock. Best if we leave them alone for now.”

“I see,” he said, throwing his spent cigar on the ground and crushing his heel on it.

“Where’s Dr. Amari?”

Back to the real order of business, just how Nick Valentine the synth detective liked it, “She’s downstairs. Let’s see what she’s up to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like a superhero while writing this chapter. A depressed one though, with all the needed words popping from my vocabulary, scenarios playing in my head, and writer’s block defeated. Still, it sucked to feel this way. Much worse than being sad. It just sucks, that’s it. Don’t wanna go any further.
> 
> If ever you’re going through the same, be with the right friends. The sort that would listen and support you in silence rather than running their mouth without thinking first, much like… MacCready? But okay, kidding aside there with the character reference, please please love yourself! You are worth it, and you deserve it!


	14. Memory Ride

“Are you two mad?!”

Amelia flinched from Dr. Amari’s reaction as it echoed in the whole basement level. For sure it was heard upstairs too, given the muteness of the place saved for the humming of the loungers in standby.

“Putting aside the fact that you’re asking **me** to **defile** a corpse, you do realize that the memory simulators require intact, **living** brains to function?”

“Certainly there’s some way to make this work,” Amelia pleaded, avoiding so much of her despair to spill out of her tongue. Defiling a murderer’s corpse was the least of her problems, but that couldn’t be the end yet.

“This dead brain had inside knowledge of the Institute, Amari. The biggest scientific secret of the Commonwealth. You need this, and so do we,” Nick persuaded more with a stomp forward.

The doctor paced as Amelia mentally begged for her to try their chances, although no literal communication was established. Dr. Amari sighed, “Fine. I’ll take a look, but no guarantees. Do you… have it with you?”

They didn’t carry Kellogg’s corpse- as Amelia would very much wish for it to rot in hell- but her fingers fished the wrapped brain augmenter from the inner pockets of her pack and handed it with care to Dr. Amari.

“What’s this? This isn’t a brain! This is… Wait,” she pulled the wrapper close to her face, not even cringing as a hint of disgust, to further inspect the object, “That’s the hippocampus! And this thing attached to it. A neural interface?”

“Those circuits look awfully familiar,” Nick commented with his voice trailing off.

Dr. Amari faced his direction, “I’m not surprised. From what I’ve seen, all Institute technology has a similar architecture.”

The way she eyed the synth detective meant something, and it didn’t seem to be a good sign, until Amelia realized-

“Does this mean that Nick…” Not even bothering to finish her sentence, she looked at him with a worried expression.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. If we’re lucky, it should hook right in. But even if this works, Mr. Valentine would be taking on a _tremendous_ amount of risk. We’re talking about wiring something to his brain.”

Amelia didn’t peel her eyes off the synth detective as the phrase ‘tremendous amount of risk’ repeatedly emphasized in her mind. Nick’s an important personality in this wasteland, and surely it won’t be the same if ever something wrong happened to him. He had been helping people through their cases ever since he could, even though he was constantly judged for being a synth. Would he be deserving of that risk? What would happen if he got shut down because of her? No, she couldn’t shoulder that burden, and wouldn’t even dare try.

“Don’t worry about me, Amari. Let’s do it.”

“Do you really have to do this, Nick?” Amelia asked with her hands clasped on each other. Her sincere hazels delivered the amount of concern she was feeling through Nick’s vivid yellow circles. He might be artificial, but he was still alive, and she wouldn’t want anyone close to her become a martyr for her son’s life because if there would be someone to do that, it should be her, and it shouldn’t be dared question by anyone. Even if it was the very ghost of her husband.

“No idea, but we got a missing kid on the line. That’s worth the risk.”

Amelia smiled. A sad smile. The direction where this would go was in a mess of spirals, but she hoped that after all this, the same Nick Valentine would still be there, along with his passion for justice.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Valentine. Just sit down,” Dr. Amari guided while she fixed the spotlight towards the spot where the examination chair was. The synth detective obliged, his metal hand placing his battered fedora on his lap.

“If I start cackling like an old, grizzled mercenary, pull me out, okay?”

The doctor rolled her eyes from his attempt of lighting the load of their situation, “Let’s see here…”

Frozen in her position, Amelia’s arms were crossed, one forearm erect to bite her fingernails. She was itching to see how it was happening the moment Dr. Amari pulled a large fragment of Nick’s synthetic skull and poked a few apparatuses inside. Her foot tapping began when the doctor finally inserted the augmenter in his head.

A silent prayer was solemnly chanted in her mind.

“I need you to keep talking to me, Mr. Valentine. Any slight change in your cognitive functions could be dire.”

Nick was silent, his yellow orbs stuck staring on the floor. The memories were already loading in his head, and Amelia wished for nothing but the detective’s safety in the performed procedure.

“Are you… feeling any different?”

At last, the synth detective slowly nodded, and it was answered by a sigh in Amelia’s part.

“There’s a lot of flashes. Static… I can’t make sense of any of it, doc.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. The mnemonic impressions are encoded,” then she faced Amelia, “It appears the Institute has one last failsafe. There’s a lock on the memories in the implant.”

“Damn it,” Amelia cussed under her breath, biting harder on her nails. The Institute was really putting her up in a challenge. What was it that her son had for them to keep them apart like this?

“ _If_ a single mind wouldn’t be able to crack it, would it be possible if we used two...?” and it sounded as if Dr. Amari had a eureka moment, “Aha! We load both you and Mr. Valentine into the memory loungers. Run your cognitive functions in parallel! He’ll act as a host while your consciousness drives through whatever memories we can find.”

Hmm. Everything made sense. It’s possible, and Amelia didn’t ask for further questions, trusting the doctor in the process, “All right. Let’s get started.”

“Just sit down over there,” she pointed over the vacant memory lounger next to her, “And… keep your fingers crossed.”

She nodded and did as she was told. Nick did the same on the opposite lounger. Before his lounger’s lid had closed, Nick gave her a quick salute, “See you on the other side.”

The vault woman gulped as she assessed the situation she agreed to. Her fingers dug on the upholstery of her lounger’s armrests as her lid matched the rim of her pod. She wanted to close her eyes. She **had** to close her eyes, but she trembled from the thought of doing it. She didn’t want to close her eyes. She feared that she would wake up back in the vault. Inside her cryopod.

Amelia took a deep breath, and just as she was about to force her eyes shut, the lounger did it for her.

 

* * *

 

Some passersby had their heads up to Old State’s House balcony as they heard bottles clinking from where Hancock and MacCready were standing. Both had their arms crossed, leaning on the balcony’s railing as they shared a bellyful of laugh before drinking their beer.

“Your beer still tastes like piss,” the merc sneered.

The ghoul returned a smirk from the remark, “You’ve only been gone for two weeks, kid. It’s too early for that.” But he knew deep inside that MacCready had a point. Kid was as damn straight as he could. Hancock swirled the liquid inside the amber bottle that glimmered from the setting sun’s light as his dark eyes caught glimpse of the Memory Den’s façade.

“How’s Sunshine holding up?”

“You mean boss?”

“Sunshine’s not the boss of me, kid,” Hancock chuckled. MacCready thought hard of what to tell him. Not like the mayor was his client’s family or partner, if his suspicions were correct. Not to mention that Hancock was the only one using endearment over her. Fishy, or it could just be the ghoul hitting on his boss.

“She’s… getting better.”

“Better at what? Don’t tell me you already had your shot on her.”

“Fu- _Hell_ no! I don’t bed my clients. That’s not part of my job.”

“You should see your face right now,” the ghoul poked fun over him. He didn’t have to, because he knew damn well how embarrassed red his face was from the heat on his cheeks. Damn sure he wasn’t being defensive, though. His client deserved her peace and her space. So did he. That was it.

He took his last swig of beer from his bottle, cringing from its aftertaste. “I gotta head over there before I get fired from my job,” MacCready excused, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm and setting the bottle on the nearest table.

Fahrenheit, who was picking up the empty Jet inhalers scattered inside Hancock’s office, glared at him while he walked out of the room. She’d always kept a temper over him, so he didn’t wonder anymore. Woman was like a predator about to pounce on him for being chums with Hancock. Pft, not like he had any underlying motives. He’s not that cheap.

Walking in Memory Den brought back his bitter days. Back when he was new in town and badly wanted to frequent the joint to relive the days his family was complete. The Gunners paid him no good other than caps and rations, and it was where he spent most of it besides the booze in The Third Rail. Irma caught sight of him, and he was a very familiar customer.

“Sweetie, why are you back here? I told you before, we can’t put you in the loungers-“

“I’m long past that. I have a job in here,” he hastily spat while holding Irma’s wrists that were trying to get ahold of his shoulders.

Irma withdrew her arms and sighed in relief, “I’m delighted to hear that you have already moved on.” But he didn’t. He hadn’t. And he might never will.

His eyes peered behind the woman's sides. There was no sign of the detective and his boss. He wasn’t tricked, was he? This is the place Amelia told her they would go. If only he didn’t get carried away by Hancock's free drinks.

“Have you seen a woman enter this place with Nick Valentine?”

“For sure, sweetie. What’s your business with them?”

“I’m her hired gun. I have to be where she is or else she might fire me.”

Irma scanned him from his head down to his toes before replying, “They’re down in the basement with Dr. Amari. Take the stairs over there,” then she pointed to the doorway to the left of the raised platform.

The merc descended the first set of stairs. Electronic beeps caused him to pause before progressing down the second set. There were also murmurs of a woman speaking in... jargons. He was sure it was the doctor’s voice.

“Boss, are you-“

What the actual _fuck_. He frozed from his tracks upon seeing his boss and Nick Valentine inside memory loungers.

"What the hell is going on in here?!”

Dr. Amari whirled from her terminal upon his protest. Whatever kind of experiment she was performing on the two, he absolutely disapproved, so he raised his rifle and threatened the doctor with it yet to no avail.

The doctor simply sighed then returning to her business, “Violence is the last thing I'd expect from the crucial operation we’re performing here. What do you want, Mr. MacCready?”

The formality just agitated him more.

“I’m her hired gun,” he informed while pointing over Amelia’s lounger, “And my job is to blow the brains of _motherfuckers_ who try to lay a hand on her." Sweet Jesus, that cuss felt so smooth on his tongue. "Why are they in those memory loungers? What are you doing to them?”

The keys from the terminal were clicking while she spoke in utter seriousness, “We’re trying to unlock Kellogg’s memories, supposed you know him. Mr. Valentine here is- Okay, we’re getting warmer. One of these has got to tell us something.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?!”

“Calm down, Mr. MacCready," Dr. Amari pacified, "I'm talking to your client. She’s inside Kellogg’s memories through the lounger. As I was saying, Mr. Valentine volunteered to become the port for Kellogg’s brain augmenter, and your client is the one exploring it right now.”

MacCready didn’t understand the whole scenario even after it was explained. He wasn’t a nerd, but from the sound of it, his boss might not be in that worse of a danger. Must have been her intention for coming here. He put his rifle to his side and slung its lace on his shoulder. At least he wasn’t fired yet. He sat on the nearby couch, tried soothing his rage, and waited for any cue from the doctor.

As of the moment, she was talking to Amelia through a microphone jacked on her terminal.

“Connecting now."

MacCready was looking at both Nick and Amelia; their stillness was eerily unbearable. They both looked... dead. Especially his boss. Her complexion was pale as it lacked its natural undertones. He would've been in a panic if it wasn't for the rising and falling of her chest.

Suddenly, Amelia's hands flew to the lid, banging it in desperation. Sweet mother of…

MacCready jumped from his seat, so did his heart that almost fell out of his chest. Dr. Amari noticed it, but she still continued the procedure. Wasn't she supposed to take her out yet?

He was nervous in his seat. Couldn't get his eyes off of her. Nick was doing okay in his lounger, so why was she struggling? For all he knew, his boss could be dying, and he was that dumb to not know what to do.

Then, the room flipped upside down when she started screaming and... Were those tears?! _Fucking hell, she's in so much pain._ Her cries were muffled by the closed pod, but there was no mistaking the agony in her lips.

"Goddamn it, get her out of there!"

"W-We can't! She is still interacting with the memory. Her reaction is just-"

"I don't give a shit! Open the pod or I'll do it myself!"

Dr. Amari frantically pressed on the button of her microphone, calling out over Amelia. Absolute fuck, she didn't even know her name. MacCready had decided that this operation was over, loading his rifle and pointing its barrel on the lid of his client's pod. His hands shook, and his head was getting fuzzy. He couldn't aim to where Amelia won't get hurt. Her arms were everywhere.

By sheer miracle or whatever phenomenon caused it, Amelia instantly calmed, her arms frozen, then slowly descending onto the armrests. Her chest had also recovered to its normal pace of rise and fall. She was still breathing.

Dr. Amari had a hand over her chest. She was able to breathe normally again, “Thank goodness you're still there. I'm, uh, I’m sorry you had to go through that again.”

“That’s it? Sorry?!” thought MacCready, and he couldn’t believe how dense the doctor could be, with how her pursuit for science was more superior of a responsibility than his client’s life. Scum. He brought down his rifle and sat on the couch again, and only hoped that the same incident won't happen again.

“I’ve found another intact memory. I want you to stay with me."

The room remained quiet with only the electronic humming of the loungers composing its ambience. Not for long, it was interrupted by the doctor's gasp.

“Is that… your son?”

_Amelia's son?_ MacCready's feet shifted. He wanted to take a look. He _badly_ wanted to. His grip on the couch's armrest tightened, and the thump in his chest had gone heavier than it was before. It felt like he was expecting someone close, like a child relative. Or, just a child. Like how he first felt when Lucy was in labor.

“This appears to be a very recent memory, so good news, I think," Dr. Amari added. MacCready didn't mind the hesitation on the last part. For an unknown reason, he was happy. He was optimistic for his boss. Maybe it would be the same for Duncan. If more than 200 years passed for Amelia yet she was still able to locate her son, then maybe it wasn't too late for his own.

“Teleportation. Now it all makes sense. Nobody’s found the entrance to the Institute because there is no entrance!"

Dr. Amari swung her hands on the nearby desk, searched for a leather journal buried in a pile of papers and scribbled quick on it using a pen retrieved from her lab coat’s front pocket. After writing, she spoke on the microphone again, "I'll pull out Mr. Valentine first then you will go next. Get yourself ready."

After several clicking of keys on the terminal, Nick's pod unfolded. His yellow orbs flickered, a likely counterpart for human blinking. Dr. Amari assisted him to stand up while MacCready pondered if that was necessary. Surely Nick could handle himself; he's a synth. All that metal made him more durable compared to the fleshy human who just went through a break down the other goddamn pod. He'd rather have the doctor checking on his boss.

"Sit still," Dr. Amari had her hands on Nick's shoulders, "I'll be removing the implant, then you're good to go."

MacCready watched intently as the doctor handled the synth's head. So much science going on. Good thing Nick was a synth or else, fiddling with human head would be a bloody mess. Speaking of which… Would his boss go through the same thing? He shuddered from the thought of Amelia’s head being pillaged like a treasure cove full of ancestral gold after her release. He sincerely hoped not.

"That was one heck of a ride, doc. I'll be upstairs. I...,” then a sigh which was not of relief, “need to recover from everything I've seen.”

Nick went on his way, leaving the two of them, including Amelia, in the room. Was Nick really able to witness everything Amelia went through? Must have been an infuriating experience, especially the part where he shared a life with a cutthroat _and_ a sellout while unable to do anything.

Amelia heaved into breathing as the lid of her pod opened. MacCready rushed to assist her, grabbing onto her clammy hands as he hauled her out. Strands of her hair were sticking on her forehead. Her eyes appeared dead, depleted of the usual shimmer they normally flaunted to the undeserving wasteland. Should he be worried? For all he knew, it could just be the lighting’s fault.

Dr. Amari stood just beside Amelia, “Slow movements, okay? I don’t know what kind of side effects the procedure might have had. No one’s ever… done this before,” she said as she slowly backed her feet, her hands raised to catch Amelia whenever she would collapse.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m-" Amelia grimaced. "Thank you…”

Her voice was weak. _She wasn't okay._ Her grip on MacCready's hands had turned too strong, like she was holding for her dear life.

"Boss?"

Crap. She didn't even look at him. He glanced over the doctor, his eyes sending an SOS. Then, without any caution, his arm was tugged onto the ground as Amelia collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do correct me if ever you noticed errors, even typos! Thank you thank you!  
> Oh, and check out beginning chapter notes of Chapter 1. I left a hyperlink there for the book cover.
> 
> Join me in my Fallout hype via [lonekatze.tumblr.com](https://lonekatze.tumblr.com/)


	15. In Memoriam

“Boss!”

Her body faltered on the dusty floor, like a leaf that dropped down from its branch. Every part of her body jerked uncontrollably, her fingers were twitching, and her eyes were rolling backwards that could threaten its tendons from breaking. Amelia was shaking like crazy. _Fucking hell!_ He didn't know what to do. All the tricks he had learned to survive the wasteland, but this was something he wasn’t aware of to begin with!

Perhaps it was his first time to witness Dr. Amari consumed by fear throughout the whole operation, "Step back!"

"This is all your fucking fault! And you even call yourself a doctor."

His mouth was running wild with the curses he had been suppressing. To hell if they even tried to kick him out! He won't go anywhere. The least he could do was to be there for his boss. Amelia looked like she was in so much pain- much more than before in the pod- and his conscience strictly told him to not leave her convulsing on the floor.

"Your rants aren't going to help her off the seizure," Dr. Amari sternly answered while folding her coat, absent of any potential hazards, and tucked it under Amelia's head, "Flip her to her side so she could breathe properly."

Touching his boss while she was going through… _this?_ It felt like torture for him. There was even a glint of wetness on her cheeks. She was crying. “Goddamn it.” He couldn't bear the sight anymore. Make it stop, _please._

A few seconds had passed when her seizure arrived to a halt. MacCready wanted to check her pulse because she was so... still. With hesitation, he tried to feel her carotid pulse. But before his fingertips hovered the little hairs of her skin, the slow rise and fall of her sides became evident. He sighed. A heavy anvil had been lifted deep inside of him. Thank god.

"Boss," he called out. Amelia didn't reply, much like his attempt earlier. Just like talking to the air. This time though, he wasn't annoyed. Couldn’t bring himself to it. He kind of figured her frailty from what she just went through.

"Bring her to the couch so she could sit and relax. I'll head upstairs to get her something to drink and eat."

MacCready nodded, slipping his hands underneath her shoulders and kneepits. Her eyes were open, half-lidded and still dead. Lacked the vibrant color he had been looking for.

He carefully nestled Amelia's jaded self on the couch, as what he was told to do. As he knelt in front of her, his hand unconsciously cupped her cheek to take a better look at her.

His hand flinched. Damn cold.

MacCready tried again. This time, with feathery pats on her cheek, "Hey boss."

He sighed. Not even a gap between her lips.

When Dr. Amari entered the room, MacCready quickly withdrew his hand as if he was caught red-handed. The doctor didn't react, but she definitely saw his tender act. Heat spread throughout his cheeks as he made way for Dr. Amari. It was his cue to go out.

"Am I still needed here, doc?"

"I guess your client will understand if you had to go. When she has recovered, I'll tell her that you headed out already."

That was an exhausting experience, even from where he had stood. Never thought that seizures could be that bad. Not even his time in the Gunners were helpful since none of them ever went through the same crap. Most of the time, when someone acted crazy, they'd just shoot that person in the head to end their worries. Looking back, it made them even worse lunatics.

While walking towards the exit, he saw Nick sitting on a waiting couch. A little company won't hurt, he guessed.

"Hey, Nick. Wanna smoke outside?"

The synth held a rather foreign gaze towards MacCready.

"Hope y’all got what you were looking for inside my head," then he chuckled in the same strange voice, "I was right. Should’ve killed her when she was on ice.”

“The fuck did you say?!”

Soon, the synth was down on the floor. The merc was triggered by burning fury that he had to punch Nick right on his cold, rigid jaw.

"I thought you were her friend. Metal dickhead," MacCready spat. His knuckle was bruised from the stubborn metal that made up Nick's face. But it was worth it. Nobody should talk shit over someone who had been treating them damn well. Moreover, even wish for that person’s death.

Irma was immediately there for Nick, pulling the detective up on his feet with an effort that messed her hairdo.

There was another flicker in his orbs before he spoke, now in his original voice, "What was that for, kid?"

"Want me to punch you again so you'll remember the shi- **crap** you just said?" Goddamn, he _hated_ it so much when he stuttered.

"W-What are you talking about...?"

"Enough!” Irma squished herself between the two men, pushing them away from each other, "Darlings, take your fight outside, not inside my place."

MacCready was more than ready to give the synth another taste of his fist when Nick spoke as clueless as he could express, "Did I say or do something I don't usually do?"

The merc paused, dumbfounded. Impossible that he could be playing with _that_ look on his face. So he really didn't know?

"You really don't know?"

"Did I?" Nick repeated. This time, with emphasis. MacCready nodded.

"Huh.” He replaced the fedora on top of his stubborn cranium. “Amari said there might be some ‘mnemonic impressions’ left over…”

So if it wasn’t Nick then… Was the voice he heard Kellogg's? This was bad. If those episodes were to continue, he wouldn't want the synth to go anywhere near his boss anymore. He couldn't afford to see her go through another round of seizures, or anything as awful as that.

"Should I tell doc?"

“No, no. I feel fine, kid," Nick assured him, placing a hand on Irma's shoulder as a sign that no fight will happen inside nor outside. The woman was put into ease.

"So kid, you were saying?"

 

* * *

 

Held back by daze, Amelia persuaded her own body to sit on the couch. Dr. Amari was still persistent in asking, "You don't remember a thing?"

Speaking was difficult. It felt like she was drying her throat every time she tried. She still uttered few words at a time, keeping her voice low, "After exploring memories, I don't." Her body felt too heavy for her limbs to lift off the couch. Her muscles were sore; like she had carried weights that were greater than her own. She was damp of cold yet greasy sweat, notably on her scalp, forehead, neck, and palms. Her cheeks felt sticky too, but she figured those were stains of tears.

Amelia drank another can of purified water as she recollected her experience inside Kellogg's memories. Her husband. Her son. All just another job for him. The mercenary used to have a family before, so why didn't he take pity for her own? He even treated her like an object. A _back-up,_ whatever the hell it meant. Even expected her to fully take on the Institute in behalf of the bullshit he signed himself in.

And Shaun... Shaun was already a big boy. Kellogg _wasn't_ fooling her back in Fort Hagen. Shaun wasn't her ‘baby’ anymore. The crib she had been preserving for long in Sanctuary won't be any more useful now. All the infant toys she scavenged and scrubbed to perfection, Shaun won't even dare touch in his current age. If only Nate was alive, and the bombs didn't fall, and her baby's kidnapping didn't happen, they could've been playing catch by their yard. Nate would have been cheering over Shaun as he tossed the ball over their son. And she'd be watching them with a cup of tea between her palms, a wide smile reaching both of her ears as perfection unveiled in front of her eyes. But no, the war had to destroy her dream. Kellogg had to burn that image into ashes. Institute had to rid her of her motherly duties towards her own child. All that time and opportunity, discarded like an unnecessary holiday in their calendar.

Dr. Amari looked at her with pity. Amelia didn't need it. In fact, she hated it. She hated how she had to be the most miserable woman to ever exist in the Commonwealth. She hated how it had to be her family to suffer this tragedy. She hated how it had to be her surviving rather than her Nate.

Her eyes were too tired and dehydrated to even release tears, no matter how badly she wanted it to happen. Her wrapped fingers dug into the can, trying her best to endure the pain, but there was nothing that could quiet her into ease. Bitterness was consuming what's left of her sanity.

Amelia looked upon Dr. Amari as she sighed, "Let's forget whatever happened there for the meantime. You have to rest first, and I want you to keep monitoring yourself. We have to be sure there’s no long-term damage."

Walking was a burden, but the doctor encouraged her to take it slow so she could recondition her legs. Dr. Amari also told her that Nick and MacCready were already outside, but when she headed towards Hotel Rexford, there were no traces of them. She didn't even bother finding them. She wanted to be alone. And if she ever had to have company, she wanted it to be Nate.

 

* * *

 

It had been five days. Five bleak days of Amelia moping in her hotel room. It was a first for MacCready to encounter her in such a depressing state. Sure, she had cried like a baby before, but this? This was different. The afternoon he heard from the neighborhood watch that she went to the hotel and he traced her steps, all he received were threats of firing him if he didn't leave her alone. Holding dear on his caps, of course he complied, but he couldn't help getting worried, no matter how much he denied it. Yes, it was soft of him, but there’s no denying how he inarguably related to the boss. Death of a spouse. Son in serious danger that could lead to his own... _death._ The willingness to bargain everything including their life just to turn things upside down? Definitely him.

She rented him a room beside hers. Trying his best not to dwell on how petty she was being, he instead focused on being grateful for sleeping under a roof. And every night when he was supposed to sleep, peace was out of the picture because of the heart-wrenching cries at the other room. Sometimes he'd find himself snuggling on the thin wall, his fingers picking on what was left of the wallpaper, listening to her just so he could somehow offer a bit of his company no matter how much she shoved it away. Her misery had been very close to his own, though his was much worse from having nobody to rely on. He was alone. Abandoned. Empty given his lack of worth, because he was plainly nothing without Lucy. Just a mercenary in the run for caps. No dignity. No honor. No inspiration. Just a cap-obsessed killer and a shitty father to a dying son.

Whenever his boss didn't create any further noise except for the faint shuffling of sheets, MacCready would take it as her falling into sleep, and he would wake up the next morning, back sore from sleeping against the wall.

That morning when he couldn't handle any more of the suffocating atmosphere due to the flashbacks of his dreary days, MacCready took a hike around town, people-watching until eventually stopping in front of Daisy's Discounts. Daisy was there, wiping her shop's counter. Too busy to even see him coming.

"Daisy, what date is it today?"

She didn’t part her eyes from her circling rag, "What, about to drop another lousy pick-up line over your old girl?"

He chuckled, but not as cheerful as the one he usually shared with his friend, "Don't worry your pretty self, doll. I wasn't going to. Just wanted to check if I already missed Duncan's birthday."

Understanding the urgency, Daisy spun like a top to her salvaged calendar hanging on her wall at eye level. Her finger skimmed through the page, counting the X's marked onto it and checking the events she scribbled by herself.

She released a breath she didn't know she had been holding onto and smiled to the merc, "You're nine days early for a memo, Mac."

He smiled back, an expression that did not convince Daisy.

"Something's bothering you... Is it a woman?"

"Yeah," he sighed, ignoring the tease that could possibly come. Today was just a bad time for it. "Boss has been locking herself in her room for _days_ now. She doesn't even talk to me. Warned me of kicking me out of my job if I didn't stay away from her."

"Are you worried about your job or your client?"

"Both, actually. I kind of want to hit the road again."

‘Everything there was depressing, and I don’t want to go back to the way I used to be,’ MacCready wanted to say. Instead, he kept quiet and casted his back on Daisy's counter. This would’ve been better instead of letting his mouth run again. Besides, he wasn’t the one needing dire help right now; it was his boss.

A hand extended onto his shoulder, rubbing gentle comfort. "I'm usually against this, but why don't you try drowning your worries with a good bottle of liquor?"

"I can't, and I don't know why."

But he knew he’d been intentionally avoiding alcohol. With his boss in his mind overlapped by his past, he feared that his drunk state might do something really crappy, like wrecking the door of her hotel room and going ape inside, throwing all the stuff he could see just so his boss would know how much she was stressing him.

"Well, one thing I know is we women, we’re made soft, unlike men. No matter how much we insist that we wanted to be alone, we would still desire the opposite. Count it as reverse psychology. Might work on your client," Daisy advised as MacCready tried to spell out ‘psychology’ in his mind.

A wrinkled envelope slid on top of the dry counter, "And here, a letter from your boy."

His hand quickly snatched it as if it was going to disappear if he didn’t hold onto it immediately, “Thank you so much, Daisy!” He peppered it with kisses matching the rhythm of his heart, wrinkling it more. He never gave a damn on presentation unless it was combat. What's important was his son gathered all the strength he could to write his daddy a letter. It softened him akin to a puddle on fertile soil. He snuck the envelope in his duster’s inner pocket before jogging back to the hotel with newfound courage.

 

* * *

 

The window was shut close and its blinds were down, blocking the sunlight that would dare bring cheer to the room embraced by sadness, save for one loving voice and infant giggling that erupted from the Pip-Boy’s tape player. Amelia didn't bother counting the times she had abused her husband's last holotape for her. Despite her foggy vision from endless tears that pooled her eyes, her finger would still manage to find its way to the replay button.

"Oops," followed by the mellow laugh of her husband that had melted her in a way that stung, "Keep those little fingers away... Ah, there we go."

She'd imagine Shaun's tiny fingertips brushing onto hers. And they were too soft. Too delicate. Too fragile, even for her own grasp. Just the mere touch was already fulfilling for her as a mother.

"Ah, yay! Hi honey, listen..."

 _She was listening._ For so many times now. No matter how much she tried to run away from it, she knew the truth of how meager a wife she was, grievously deprived of her needs. An unpleasant feeling settled in her belly, intensifying the body ache she already had aside from her broken heart and troubled mind. Amelia was badly denied of intimacy. Of half the piece of her heart. Of Nate. Being called 'honey' didn't calm her down. It only contributed more to the pain because he wasn't there anymore. He wouldn't be able to whisper it to her ears like before because he's _gone_. The holodisk was the last and only proof of Nate's endearing voice that he revealed only to her.

"You are kind, and loving, and funny, that's right, and patient. So patient, patience of a saint as your mother used to say."

She tried thinking of whatever righteous thing she did to deserve a man like him. A man with such flattery that she just couldn't ignore, yet so convincing that his words were true. So honest, different from the sweet talks she once received from boys who wanted her during adolescence. A man who had been very appreciative of her every effort, thanking her for the little things she did without even trying, and letting her know that there won't be a single second that he wasn't fond of her.

"... even so I know our best days are yet to come." _Oh god..._

And it made her wince. The piercing pain within her heart worsened yet again from his words. Nate had so much hope for their family. He believed in tomorrow. Then the bomb came. Then, Vault 101. _Kellogg. The Institute._ That tomorrow was no more. She clenched onto the faded bedsheets, as tight as the squeezing feeling within her belly, not even minding the fountain of tears erupting from her eyes.

"But everything we do, no matter how hard, we do it for our family."

Did it have to be that hard? Did it have to cost his life? Most fucked up of all, _did it have to be her, literally?_

"Now say goodbye Shaun."

_No, please don't._

"Bye bye, say bye bye."

_Not yet. Not yet, please!_

"Bye honey, we love you."

_No, no, Nate, don't-_

Loud screeching invaded the whole hotel floor. No words could explain her pain. Plucks of feathers were shed from the weary pillows thrown across her room. The blanket was almost torn apart by Amelia's trembling fingers. She screamed until her throat felt like tearing apart, unable to accept the tragedy that had fallen onto her. Her face was pulping red from so much anger and fear all at once, and her eyes were bloodshot from the tears that she forced to flush of her system.

Her door slammed open, yet she didn't stop. Not even to look, because nothing mattered more at the moment than her agony. Her misery. Her pain. Every fucking thing she never even asked for. What did she do to deserve this?

Strong arms surrounded her, silencing her with a chest pressed on her face. Her fists flew, wasting what's left of her feeble strength to whoever it was that was stopping her. Then a hand smoothed her hair, running from the top of her scalp down to her nape.

"N-Nate?"

She _achingly_ longed for that; it was the only thing that calmed her during her storms. Her lips quivered from the familiar gesture, scared to even look if it was really Nate or just another person. She didn't want to accept that it wasn't Nate. _It should be him._

Hands slid onto her shoulders, gently pushing her away, but she pushed herself more. ‘Not yet’, she begged in her mind. She didn't want it to end yet. Amelia enveloped herself on the warmth she perfectly fit in, like she was a puzzle piece that had gone missing for so long. Now, she was found, and she would want it to stay that way for a little longer.

"Nate, don't ever leave me alone like that again," she whimpered, her tears brushing onto his chest. Within the dark that kept them steady, Amelia held tighter, remaining pressed and pulling the source of her consolation to lay on the bed with her. In between her sniffs for air, she managed to inhale a whiff of different layers of fabric dried by the sun, and gunpowder.

"B-Boss."

Amelia shuddered from the voice that sounded so close to her ear. No words left her mouth, but she pulled herself away as quick as possible, a huge wave of disappointment washing away the dimly-lit hope within her.

"What are you doing here?! I told you to get the fuck away from me!" Then she shove MacCready off the bed. His silhouette shifted as he landed on the floor. Her instruction was as clear as the bright blue sky back in her days, so what made it difficult for him to understand? Her mind murked into nothing but the impulse of firing him for not only invading her privacy, but also planting false hopes.

"Cut the crap, boss! I'm not buying it," he scowled while pulling himself up. "You don't have to bitch about this, okay? I'm here. You can talk to me, ask me for help, whatever the hell you want. Just don't push me away!"

"And I wanted you to leave me alone! You being here is not helping me at all!"

"You're lying!"

"Why would I even dare?!"

"Just for once, boss, shut the fuck up!"

Amelia was startled. Without doubt, it was her first time hearing his voice crack in so much anger that it _scared_ her. She heard sniffing, then she noticed a slender part of his silhouette- an arm- brush to the shape of his face as he fought a sniff. Was he... crying?

"Leaving you alone won't do you any healing. I know because I've _been there_ before. My family... I-I had nobody. I suffered alone, and I still felt like shit after all the drinking and moping. I thought joining the Gunners would make me forget but it made things much worse than it was before. Couldn’t rest well with one eye open. All because I had no one to hear me out."

Staring at his shadow felt like a sin from how she did him wrong by pushing him away. _She didn't know._ She wanted to apologize for being insensitive, but she couldn't bring herself to do it yet.

"So please, boss. Let me help you. Don't let me walk out that door again, 'cause I swear it won't make you feel any better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There couldn’t possibly be no side effects, right? Especially since it was Dr. Amari’s first time. Oh, and not to mention we’ve dealt with none other than the human brain! So I just had to. Personally though, I haven’t had any encounters of seizures. Usually I’d come across videos of those, mostly from animals. It was really hard to continue watching those, and I end up crying most of the time.
> 
> So… PHEW! Longest chapter I’ve ever written yet? Full of feels, too. I almost cried while writing the latter part (yes, I’m aware that I still suck at writing but all the feelings… ouch.) BUT I hope I delivered well. Comments, suggestions, and criticism are allowed! Please point out any mistakes I’ve made, but in a nice way coz I might break, but I don’t bite! Definitely not a radroach!
> 
> Hang out with me at [tumblr](https://lonekatze.tumblr.com/)!


	16. Messages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archive warning applies in this chapter!

A vision of a white ceiling she once shared with Nate in Sanctuary Hills appeared in front of her fluttering eyes. Was she still dreaming?

_“Wake up, honey.”_

“Nate?”

Her lashes batted more, then the vision was gone, turning to a ceiling with cracks similar to cartographic borders. For the first time in which seemed like forever, shafts of light blessed her room through the open window thanks to the knotted length of the curtains. Strange, though. She couldn’t remember tying them up last night. In fact, she couldn’t remember anything she did last night after MacCready’s confrontation.

Amelia sat on her knees, yawned, and stretched her arms until a satisfying pop.

Suddenly, there was a crackle, and it almost made her joints hop out of their sockets. No time to react. Her squinted eyes forced to widen just to check its source. It could be anything. Worse, an intruder.

Then, she was washed by a wave of relief. It was just MacCready, snoring on the battered couch. She giggled. That was a punching surprise coming from a lean man like him.

She got out of bed, grabbing her blanket, then laying it on the wilted merc as her way of thanking him for slapping some sense to her last night. Her hands flew to MacCready’s cap, carefully taking it off of his face.

Pft. He looked adorably ridiculous. The type of sleeping face club boys from her pre-law college would doodle in. Amelia restrained a laugh by patting the dust off of his cap, examining its details.

Its green was worn out by prolonged exposure to the wasteland’s heat and dirt. Still in good shape, though. Rather firm than the quality she had expected. What’s been catching her curiosity were the bullets strapped on it. Two sniper bullets. Amelia never imagined the merc as a poetic type, so she wasn’t sure if there was any symbolism behind those. Not even sure if she should ask him, either.

Her hands itched. Trying it on won’t do any harm, right? So, she snuck to the nightstand where her Pip-Boy was, blowing the specks of dust off its screen. Without turning its power on, she wore the cap and observed her reflection on the Pip-Boy screen. It looked okay on her, but… something was odd. The cap was heavy. And it wasn’t the material.

It felt like the cap harbored secrets. Suppressed heavy emotions. Much like herself after the whole memory ride.

Amelia took the cap off and set it down beside MacCready. Next time, she should definitely ask permission first before wearing it.

A polite knock on the door awakened her senses. She quickly wore her leather jacket before attending the door to keep herself decent. She wasn’t expecting visitors, and the least she wanted was for a pervert to disrespect her because of a tank top.

“Room service!” a bald man said with pizzazz while presenting a tray. Room service had been long annihilated by the bombs, but it wasn’t what had Amelia thinking. The man wasn’t just _any man_. He was… too familiar.

Her eyes were narrowed at him as she reached for the tray, “Haven’t we met before?”

“Don’t know you, doll. I’m just doing the mayor’s orders.”

“Hancock’s orders?”

“Only mayor of this town,” he said while a finger adjusted his sunglasses atop the the bridge of his nose. “He wanted you to have this, too.” He then fished out a folded paper from the side pocket of his pants, “Don’t worry, I did not read it. Definitely didn’t.”

She took the paper with suspicion. _Definitely didn’t, huh._ “Um, thanks.”

“Nah, it was nothing.”

“No, I mean, give my thanks to Hancock.”

The man laid his palm out, “For 50 caps, sure.”

Amelia felt a nerve pop by her temples, “I thought you worked for the mayor?”

“Yeah, but not for you, lady.”

“Ugh, never mind. Thanks,” then she shut the door with a roaring bam.

MacCready jumped awake in the couch, his head shifting to find any sign of threat, “Huh, what?!”

“Oh my god, sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Amelia dashed to the couch, ruefully tucking MacCready in the blanket, “Go on, rest more if you’re still tired.”

“Wha… What time is it?”

She was about to check the time on her Pip-Boy but the groggy merc already had his sight on his wristwatch. He announced the time like it wasn’t him who asked in the first place, “Almost eleven. Mmm… Is that stew?”

“Yeah… Guess so,” Amelia replied, voice trailing off as she busied herself in unfolding the mayor’s letter. The writing was surprisingly neat for a man- or a ghoul, himself.

> _Sunshine,_
> 
> _Heard about what’s happening there. You got me worried shitless, and I hope you’re not yet turning ghoul as what the tenants reported. I brought you food so you don’t have to tire yourself in finding one. No poison, completely edible. Just for you._
> 
> _P.S. Also got you a pack of Grey Tortoise and Jet. Trust me, they’re good for your nerves._
> 
> _Love,_
> 
> _J. Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor_

And the letter was finished off with an inked stamp above his signature. Proof of legitimacy, she figured.

The thought could have been deeply appreciated if it weren't for the cigarettes and chem that ruined the intention. She didn’t care if smokers and junkies had been normalized in the wasteland; she swore to _never_ fit in those categories, and would forever stand by her pre-war health principles.

MacCready trod to where the tray was. Just the aroma of Brahmin stew was enough to fill his hunger. The cigarette pack had him mentally cheering but quickly washed away like waves on a shore by the sight of an inhaler. Now that’s rude. Why the hell was there Jet on the tray? He had an idea to whom it came from, but he asked his boss anyway. Just to be sure, “Where’d you get this?”

“Hancock had it delivered here.” Bingo. As expected.

Amelia didn’t fail to notice the frown on the merc’s face while he stared at the chem, like melting it with laser eyes, “Feel free to throw the cigars and chem.”

“Yeah sure, I’m keeping the pack though,” then MacCready pocketed the Grey Tortoise as if someone was going to get it first. She rolled her eyes at it.

They settled on the couch and shared the bowl of Brahmin stew which had exactly two servings. None of them talked yet, though it wasn’t as unsettling as it could be. They were both hungry and exhausted, other reasons kept to their own selves. Amelia was first to break the silence as she offered a bottle of Nuka-Cola from her pack to MacCready, “Here. The sugar will have you kicking with life. Keep the bottle cap.”

“Thanks.”

Amelia extracted another soda bottle in her pack, though this time it was hers.

“Here, let me,” MacCready offered, reaching for her bottle. His hand brushed against hers. Skin touching skin. Then, the little hairs of her arms stood from the short yet lingering sensation. _Goose bumps._

“Boss?”

But why? This wasn’t a first in the whole duration of their partnership.

“Uhh, boss?”

Why did it feel… _intimate?_

“Okay, you’re starting to freak me out.”

She blinked, meeting the merc’s bothered gaze. His hand then fleeted to her hair, brushing it off to touch her forehead, “Are you feverish?”

Amelia instantly became aware of the burning heat creeping throughout her face and neck. Was she blushing? This is bad. And weird. _And bad!_

“No, no! I’m fine,” she convinced while taking her opened bottle and cap.

MacCready retracted his hand like he was touching something he wasn’t allowed to. He still had the heightened, honest-to-god worry over her since last night. Thankfully, his boss accepted his babysitting offer, but he figured that maybe today she didn’t need it anymore. She seemed able and back to her normal self anyway.

Despite that, she still caught his apologetic look. Maybe she should reassure him more, “Seriously, I’m okay now. Thanks.”

He nodded. His eyes remained away from her for a while. Besides, he had to shut up the skipping inside his chest. ‘You’re not some kid who got star stickers, so shut the fuck up,’ his mind scolded.

An awkward air circulated the room as they busied themselves in preparing to head out. MacCready fell asleep in his dusters, and he already cleaned his rifle while he was still holed in the other room days before, so he only did little preparation. Amelia, on the other hand, insisted that she was filthy. Although other businesses involving the toilet were no problem since her room had it, never taking a step out of her room meant that she hadn’t got the chance to visit the communal bathroom. While she took a bath, MacCready ate the time by cleaning her weapons for her. She wasn’t as skilled as him in it, anyway. Better to be sure because the least they would want while out in the road was a jammed gun. He’d been accustomed to how long she takes a bath, so he figured that it was also the perfect time to read Duncan’s letter for him.

His knife sliced onto the sealed flap of the envelope, unveiling two folded pieces of paper stuffed inside. Judging from the embossed marks, it was safe to say that one was a doodle from his boy and the other was a letter from his caretaker. He gulped a heavy lump from his throat. Knowing there was a doodle from Duncan didn’t calm him down. _What if it was his last?_

He shook himself off the unease and hurriedly unfolded the paper from Duncan. There were two stick figures roughly drawn by graphite. A taller one with something like a helmet on its head had its stick arm attached to the smaller one. Like holding hands. They both had smiling faces, so did the sun and dog in the background. He chuckled. Silly boy. Duncan definitely got it from Lucy. ‘Dadee’ was written below the taller stick figure while ‘Me’ was written below the smaller one. On the rightmost side of the paper was a scribbled note. The wiggles were enough proof of Duncan trying.

> _Dadee I mis you. Com home soon. I lov you!!!!!_

MacCready found himself chuckling in pure innocence from the number of exclamation points Duncan wrote. Maybe his luck hadn’t run out yet. He had a son who still loves him despite his long absence. Still expecting for him to come home after all the unforgivable things he had done, starting from Lucy’s passing.

Not for long, his chuckling turned to soft sobbing. He didn’t deserve such a sweet boy like Duncan. But most important of all, his son was too pure for the illness. Too small. Too young for a devastating disease. If anyone deserved those boils, it should be him, as punishment for not saving the angel who loved him no matter how much of a trashy liar he was.

His tear dropped on the other paper, reminding him that he still had one letter to read. A switch within him flipped, shutting off the dam in his eyes and ceasing his tears from flowing. Like preparing himself for the bad news. Hands trembling, MacCready soaked on each gracefully-written word in a pace his fragile heart could handle.

> _Dear RJ,_
> 
> _I hope this letter reaches you after a month and a half, and I hope you’re still alive to read this. We got the caps you shipped, but you had us worried sick because we never got any letter from you. Don’t worry, Duncan is still alive. But every day, he’s getting weaker. Poor kid barely leaves his bed now. Could barely walk, even._
> 
> _Butch has grown to hate you. Doesn’t want me to send you any more letters. He wanted to claim the kid as ours since he’s been itching for a Butch Jr., but I kept telling his pea-sized brain that the reason you’re there is because you wanted to save Duncan. And I still believe in you, RJ. I really do. Write back, okay?_
> 
> _By the way, your son insists to improve his writing and drawing skills just so his daddy could have something from him. So, digest every pencil stroke Duncan made and have a little shame for yourself._
> 
> _We love you. I know Butch still does somehow. Thought you should know._
> 
> _Sincerely yours,_
> 
> _Julie_

The floodgates in MacCready’s eyes opened. He felt relief over the news that his son was still alive, but there was a pang in his chest from knowing that Duncan had officially become bedridden. Goddamn it. He had to be the shittiest father that had ever lived in the face of the globe. Nine months of sprinkling the Commonwealth with his footsteps yet still no cure in his hands. He had to do something. He had to prove that his travel here in the Commonwealth was fruitful.

But how? Maybe his boss?

No. No. She’s just a client. A temporary person in his life. And he’s… nobody. Just a hired gun. Why would she help a merc who had done nothing but to fuss on almost every move and decision she made? Eventually, she’d be done with him, and he’d be back to being a freelance mercenary with the Gunners biting his tail.

MacCready heard the door unlock, so he frantically shoved the letters in the envelope, then into the same pocket they were first kept in. His boss entered the room, attention focused in drying her hair with a towel.

“Water’s hot for ten caps. I’ll pay for yours,” Amelia offered.

The merc pretended to adjust his cap just so he won’t have to face her. She’d know that he cried, and it would only make her bombard him with questions he didn’t want to answer, “No thanks, I’m good to go.”

 

* * *

 

In MacCready’s sight, Dr. Amari was sticking different devices onto his boss which he didn’t find delightful to watch. Though in reality, as Amelia was closely familiar with, none of those were harmless: a stethoscope to check for normal breathing and heartbeat, a digital thermometer to check her body temperature, and a penlight to inspect her eyes and her throat.

“I don’t know what kind of recovery you’ve gone through, but you’re healthier than a normal wastelander in terms of your vitals,” the doctor said in a rather shocked tone, “However, you’ve gone thinner than the last time we met, so I suggest you replenish.”

Amelia nodded in obedience. MacCready couldn’t help but smile in his seat. That was a score. The more meals his boss eat, the more beneficial it would also be for his own tummy. A… what do they call it? Mutual relationship? Yeah, that could be it.

“So, are you ready to talk about what happened in the memory ride?”

The big question was finally dropped. MacCready had his feet planted firm on the floor, just in case his boss would go through another seizure, panic attack, or whatever unpleasant situation he couldn’t name. But Amelia surprised him by the fire in her eyes. The same fire she had when she first approached him in The Third Rail.

“We got what we needed, Dr. Amari. The Institute uses teleportation to get in and out.”

‘Well I be damned,’ MacCready thought, impressed by the way she answered the doctor’s question. Amelia used the same tone she had in every Minuteman meetings. The infamous General Williams.

“As I’ve seen in the last memory, yes. Their greatest secret has finally been revealed. But that’s only one step that leads to more questions. How does it work? Where do we go next?”

Amelia held her chin while digging deep into the last part of the memory ride. They mentioned a name. Started with the letter V. Sounded close but shorter to Virginia. A name she read before in Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy. The poet. Roman.

Then she snapped her fingers. Ah, **Virgil.**

“Kellogg was supposed to track down a scientist named Virgil. I have to find him.”

“A rogue Institute scientist could answer all kinds of questions, but where did the memory say he was? The Glowing Sea?” It had MacCready’s ear ringing. “No one goes there anymore. Not even if they were desperate.”

“What she said was true, boss.”

She had a brow raised, “Why? What makes this Glowing Sea so dangerous?”

Dr. Amari was confused by Amelia’s ignorance, but she just settled to a possibility that the woman might not be a local, “The name says it all. Radiation. A tremendous level of it that nothing there could possibly live. Nothing… pleasant.”

MacCready continued supporting the doctor to educate his boss, “Rads there is nothing compared to what we have here. It can kill you before you could even count the time.”

“Exactly. That’s why Virgil fleeing into that hell doesn’t make any sense. The exposure alone…”

Amelia was weighing options in her mind. There’s a 50-50 chance that the ex-Institute scientist could either be dead or smart enough to withstand the radiation there. He’s from the Institute, not to mention a man of science, so he could have the adequate tools to fight off the rads. Therefore, it could increase that option by say, at the very least, 55 or 60. And Virgil was her only chance to infiltrating Institute. Her only chance to save Shaun.

She took a deep breath, “If I need to find Virgil, then I’m going after him.”

MacCready couldn’t believe what he just heard, “Are you nuts?!” _Did she lose some bolts in her head from the days she locked herself in the Rexford?_

On the contrary, Dr. Amari remained calm. At least on the outside. “If you plan on going, be prepared. You’ll need some way to combat the radiation there. It’s called the Glowing Sea for a reason.”

“I’ll find a way to get through the rads, Dr. Amari. Don’t worry.”

“Good luck… and be safe.”

 

* * *

 

On their way to Diamond City, they ran across a group of raiders. “Well, sneaking’s out of the question in here,” MacCready sighed while replacing the spent magazine of his pistol. Amelia peeked through the concrete wall, hoping for at least a body part to pop out of cover. Her wish being granted, a spunky raider had half of her body out in the open. Before she got the chance to pull the trigger, Amelia gained over her first with two shots on her chest followed by a lucky shot on her eye. The raider let out a blood-curdling screech as she laid on the rubble, dark blood oozing non-stop from the holes of her chest and fleshy innards hanging out of her exploded eye socket. Killing people who had no good intentions didn’t bother Amelia anymore, a personal achievement she would have celebrated with a nice shot of vodka since she only drank during special occasions. Guess that could wait later.

“Shouldn’t there be a DC guard in this area?” she huffed as she took cover. Meanwhile, MacCready claimed his turn. Two raiders down! _Jesus Christ_ , that was so close. The second raider was about to fire a missile towards them. Freaking Brotherhood of Steel’s fault that raider groups were getting smart to actually arm themselves with heavy weapons like missile launchers. Worse he could imagine would be a freaking fat man. Boy was he thankful that this group didn’t have one.

The last raider alive ran to the center of the battlefield with a baseball bat on one hand and a ball on the other. He pulled something off from the baseball, tossed the ball in the air, and hit it with his bat towards their direction, “Take that, you fuckers!”

Could it be… _Shit._

“Grenade!” MacCready yelled, pushing Amelia to a sturdier cover, his body over hers as shield from the blast. A loud boom had their ears ringing, unable to hear any noise from their surroundings. MacCready could still feel Amelia’s panicked breathing beneath him, so at least he knew that he fulfilled his job there. Then, slowly creeping towards him was a twinge by his right leg. Could be a shallow cut. But as he pulled himself off her, the slight pang evolved to an excruciating pain scattered in his whole calf.

“God fucking damn it!” he cried out loud.

Amelia heard his protest though her currently impaired hearing only caught it as a blur. His face said it all, and she hadn’t seen him in such utter pain before. Her bones were still aching from hitting raw concrete, but she consumed every bit of strength she could muster just to pull herself up. She’s the only one able between the two of them. MacCready needed her help.

Before her eyes could even scan the perimeter, something gripped her ponytailed hair so tight she could feel her scalp ripping off her head, driving her out of her cover. Amelia screamed in a pitch that echoed the same degree of pain she was currently taking, and of all parts, it had to be her hair.

The surviving raider, the same one who launched a baseball grenade at them, held Amelia close to him while his other hand squeezed her face. “Hurts like a bitch, right?” then he laughed. **The audacity.** Clearly entertained by how Amelia pounded on his metal chest armor, demanding to be let go. With a crooked smile on his scarred lips, he whispered, “You hit like a kitten.” The _filthy_ contact made her shudder.

Then without mercy, the raider sucker punched her by her stomach, releasing her hair before landing another punch on her face. Amelia dropped on the floor, writhing and coughing in so much pain, ugly-crying while blood seeped out of her nostril and the side of her lip. Her limp body couldn’t handle any more beating. Fuck, she couldn’t even carry her own weight.

Her eyelids gruelingly flitted as she heard wood clattering on concrete debris. Old folks once said that one way to cheat death was to keep yourself awake. But the sound was getting closer. With half-lidded and cloudy eyes, she witnessed a blood-stained baseball bat lifted off the ground. So that’s the way she’ll die, huh?

Amelia braced herself for her end, keeping Nate in her thoughts. She seized a few moments to scold herself for keeping their wedding rings in her pack. Could have helped her get a better chance of finding him in the afterlife. With her eyes closed, she silently mouthed, “I’m sorry, Shaun.”

Gun shot resonated throughout the area.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader, if you have a Fallout blog in tumblr, let me follow you! Here's [mine](https://lonekatze.tumblr.com/) so you'll know it's me!


	17. Duty Calls

In the brink of death, all the pleasing moments that mattered most to a person would project towards the shallowest parts of their consciousness, letting them experience a brief montage of all these. A flashback. Some of these could be the irreplaceable bond spent with their family during their childhood, the achievements they had worked hard for and attained, the strings they had tied with the person they love, along with the bundle of joy, born out of burning passion, that had changed their lives forever. All those memories, acting like anesthetic to alleviate the painful agony of death, not only in the physical sense but also to the mental. Soon, a blinding light would follow, welcoming their poor soul to the gates of afterlife. No looking back, especially to the unfortunate body they’d be leaving behind. But none of these happened to Amelia, no matter how hard her bleary mind tried.

To die with death as the only center of her thoughts wasn’t her desire. She was remembering Nate. Every single detail, starting from how a few strands of his hair sway out of place to how his bare toes crinkle on each surface he found pleasurable, whether it was the cool, wet tiles of their shower room’s floor or the fine-grained sand of Hawaii. He should be reaching a hand to her right now. He should be calling her to join him on the other side. Yet none of those appeared. None. Just pitch black while her body continued aching and shivering at the cold winter evening breeze. The same ache it had from the blast, from hitting concrete, and from the beating. No tormenting sting from a bullet wound.

_But I was shot, right?_

She slowly opened her eyes, wary of her surroundings. She sat up with her elbows drilling on the coarse ground. Her body had no bullet hole. So… if the gun wasn’t aimed at her, then-

**Oh, god.** She couldn’t believe her eyes. The raider was down, dark liquid gushing out of his left chest. It seemed like the bullet went past it, judging from the thick puddle his back was soaked on. His baseball bat was just near his reach. She had been busy minding her own death that she missed it rattling down the ground. Amelia gasped as her hand flew above her lips. That was close. That was **so** close.

A familiar voice helplessly groaned, “Little help here…”

“MacCready?”

“Over here, boss.” He had an arm weakly raised to show his location. Still at their cover from the recent blast. His fingers were stained. By blood, perhaps? The realization had her in the edge. She couldn’t tell yet; there was barely any light except for the moon as their only guide.

Amelia checked her Pip-Boy. Still in good shape except for that slight crack on the edge of its screen. She pressed on its switch that activated its light. “Stay there,” she said as she gathered her damaged body off the pavement.

“I’m not… ugh, going anywhere,” MacCready replied in a deep and pained voice. Simply because he couldn’t. He was sprawled on the ground, his right leg bleeding bad. **Shit.** Amelia bit her knuckle. She thought hard of what to do in this situation. What to do? What to _do?!_ Panic was surging within her, but it won’t extinguish relief on both of them, especially to him. She composed herself as she recalled her first aid trainings from before the Great War. She can do this. She just had to breathe.

“Okay, I-I need you to fight off the pain. I’m going to lift you up, okay?”

Before the merc could even give his answer, Amelia’s hands were already on his shoulders, pulling him off the surface. One arm laced around him to support his weight. She hauled him to a wall he could lean on. MacCready kept on groaning from the burning sensation each shrapnel radiated in his skin. Witnessing the patient in pain was always the worst part of first aid for Amelia, so she kept apologizing for every move that was necessary.

She knelt in front of him as she grasped his ankle. She spoke in the same lenient fashion, “I need to see your injury. Can you help me lift your leg a bit?” He nodded. His hand crept to the back of his knee, handling the weight of his leg alongside Amelia’s effort. He grimaced, biting hard on his lower lip while his boss inspected the injuries with the help of her Pip-Boy’s light. The way her face wrinkled didn’t show any hint of relief for his situation. It was worse than she had imagined. There were a lot of holes caused by fragments buried deep to the flesh of his calf. Streams of blood were flowing out of each hole, painting the green fabric into crimson. Amelia chanted a silent prayer for that blood to be from the layers of his skin instead of his arteries.

Amelia gently placed his leg down with its ankle inclined by the crevice of her pressed knees. Without thinking twice, she took her jacket off, followed by her white tank top, leaving her torso exposed except for a lacy brassiere. MacCready had seen one of those before- from some pin-up magazines that miraculously survived the bombs. But it wasn’t the right time for him to relish over his kink. He simply looked away as an act of respect and indulged in each sting as punishment for his inappropriateness.

She searched for something sharp inside her pack. Thank goodness MacCready was able to hold onto it before the blast. She unsheathed the combat knife she found and punched holes on the can of purified water she later grabbed. She also used it to tear the hem of MacCready’s pants, shredding the fabric off his injuries to avoid any more infection. He moaned at the little yanks, feeling the fragments dig deeper into his flesh.

“Sorry…”

“Just get it over with,” he grumbled.

“Okay. Irrigating wounds.”

Amelia made sure that every spill of water was put into good use, covering each one of his wounds. Her heart was sinking from the hisses he muttered as she looked away from the tragedy.

This was all her fault. All hers.

Then, she ripped her tank top in half with the knife, spreading it to a width enough to cover his calf. She wrapped the cloth around it, keeping it loose so as to not encourage the shrapnel from penetrating further, and finished it off with a box knot. Since that part of her job was done, Amelia put on her jacket again, zipping it up to its limit. A stimpak was taken from the pocket of her pack before she wore its straps.

"Look at me," she said as her hand cupped the merc's clammy face. He was panting from enduring the whole first aid procedure. The least she could do was to put him into ease. MacCready wasn't afraid of needles. It wasn't his first time to have a stimpak injected on him, either. But he just obeyed her and focused hard in making out the hue of her eyes that was unfortunately washed out by the Pip-Boy's unearthly green glow. He could see how she was acting tough, but the way her hands trembled unknowingly betrayed her cover.

A cool sting jabbed the muscle of his thigh. The pressure released by the stimpak made the area sore, like he was punched there. He gritted his teeth, not wanting to exhaust more of what little energy was left in him. Amelia tossed the empty syringe before kneeling beside the merc. He was sweating cold from the loss of blood. Staying in the area for the night would be suicide. Plus, the blood loss was already out of her expertise. What they need was a physician.

She wrapped his arm around her own shoulder while her free arm held his waist tight.

“W-We’re going to stand up now. Bear with it for a while, okay? We’ll find help as soon as possible, I promise,” she balmily assured him. “On the count of three.”

One. Two. And three. MacCready was up. His wounded leg ached more from carrying his weight. He wanted to scream and curse, but the fear of having another raider gang kick their injured asses prevented him from doing so. His body momentarily stuttered as the blood loss encouraged him to shut himself down. This was exactly the reason why he chose to deal with enemies through long range.

Amelia lightly patted his cheek, “Don’t fall asleep, please. Fight it off.”

A grumble was the only answer he could manage. The pain down there was clouding his mind, and it was much worse than the high trip he had once from trying Jet (courtesy of Hancock). Moving was driving him nauseous, too. Every second that passed had his body giving up. His lashes were fluttering to close but Amelia would be there to talk to him and nudge him awake. The cold atmosphere was numbing him. It wasn’t good, though. Didn’t help with the pain. Numbing during continuous blood loss meant nothing but devolving to a corpse. It’s the least of all things he would want to happen right now. For god’s sake, he couldn’t die yet. He still had a son to come home to. Duncan’s waiting for his cure and his daddy.

And Amelia had the same thoughts. It wasn’t his time yet. Somehow, she was reminded of Nate. Of how he was cold-bloodedly murdered in front of her while she remained powerless. Got nothing to do. At least now, she was able to return the favor she had once missed with her own husband, and she would do anything just so the merc would live. To make up for her stupid display from the very start of their partnership. To show him that he could rely on her the same way he had her back.

From a distance, she saw a wandering figure with a lit cigar, bearing a paddy protection and a helmet she only saw during baseball games in television. She waved her free arm and called the man out. Finally, a D.C. guard.

“Hey, over here! I have a severely wounded person with me. Help us, please!”

The man approached them. The closer he got though, the more skeptical she became. This ‘D.C. guard’ was wearing one of those suspicious sunglasses. He looked just like the drifter at Hotel Rexford. What was he doing here?

_How did he get here so fast?_

But instead of catapulting questions over him, she sought his help and prioritized MacCready’s condition.

Their combined efforts brought MacCready to Doctor Sun’s clinic. He was laid on the bed with a punishing look on his face. He’s pale. His lips were the same color as ash. He’s scared. His knuckles were white from gripping too hard on the bed’s edge, and his sweat was pouring like he had been soaked under the rain. The sinking feeling inside Amelia’s chest grew heavier. She couldn’t look at him. She _had_ to take responsibility for what happened to him.

Doctor Sun spoke in a muffled voice due to the mask around his lower face, “His injury requires intensive care and… a heavy bag of caps. I suggest you leave him to me and come back here tomorrow.”

“Will he be okay?”

“I guarantee that, so long as we don’t end up amputating his leg.”

Amelia gulped. She knew he wouldn’t like that, and he might curse her whole existence for it.

“I’ll pay you with whatever amount you propose. Just please do your best so it won't come to _that_. I’ll even pay for equipment.”

“I have everything I need here,” the doctor said as his fingers ticked on the Med-X syringe, “And I’ve done this before, so go run along now while I do my work.”

Amelia glanced at MacCready for the last time before she went out with a hand grasping her sore abdomen. The sketchy D.C. guard followed her.

"You sure you didn't need any medical attention? You looked pretty beat up too if you ask me," the guard blurted out as he lit another cigar sandwiched by his lips.

She pulled her hair tie off before running her hand through the length of her hair. Her head was still throbbing, from her scalp to her bruised cheek. The vain part of her wanted to check herself in the mirror, fearing Nate's wrath from getting herself hurt this bad. She imagined how he would flip out: he'd be storming out of their house and hunting the perpetrator. He'd also hurt him the same way she had been, or worse. Nate was always scary when he's angry, though he remained gentle and sweet towards Amelia. In fact, during their worst fight to date, she was the one throwing ceramic plates towards his direction while he only fought her with words. At one point, Nate was close to punching her, but he averted his aggression towards their bedroom wall. If Nate _did_ punch her that day, would something change? Would she know how to fight with her bare fists? Would it help her handle herself out here? Would it have saved her _and_ MacCready?

“Y’know, you should probably get your hair cut,” the D.C. guard added. He obviously didn't get the message that she had no desire to talk to him.

The raider from before crossed her mind. It sent shivers to her skin, but the suspicion grew stronger. She could clearly remember that there were no guards around the perimeter back then. Was he, by any chance, _stalking_ them?

She shot him a cocked brow, “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. It’s hard to read his expression through his sunglasses. “Just saying, ma’am. The wasteland’s a dirty place. The least you would want is to walk with a load of grease on your head.”

“That’s gross.”

“Glad you thought so,” he smirked.

“Shouldn’t you be patrolling around?”

“That I’ll do. You’re welcome for the assistance, by the way."

Wow. That was cocky. But she was relieved that he finally carried his presence away from her. She direly needed the whole space for herself. Without bothering to redo her ponytail, she limped her way to Home Plate.

“Oh.”

Surprise. Her mailbox's flag was raised. For a short moment there, she wondered whether it was the new edition of Grognak the Barbarian or her $39 monthly subscription for Picket Fences.

Amelia shook her head. 'There is no such thing as those anymore. Get a hold of yourself.'

She approached it the same way she did when she was a housewife: pushing the flag down, opening the mailbox's hatch, and piling the contents between her grasp. Except today, it wasn't 'contents'. It was just a bulky envelope sealed with blue-dyed wax. A distinguishable lightning symbol was pressed on the dry wax. The Minuteman insignia. Hopefully something wasn't wrong.

After entering Home Plate, her fingers immediately peeled the wax off the envelope. It contained a holotape and a thickly-folded paper. She unveiled the paper, discovering that it wasn't just any paper, but a proficiently drawn map with directions. Right away, she knew it was Preston, given how he was exceptionally skilled in navigation and cartography. And she was right. His signature was scribbled at the bottom edge of the map.

Next was the holotape, labelled 'For General Amelia Williams' in glued paper. She inserted it inside her Pip-Boy and made sure she was in a secluded location before playing the tape, especially with her recent suspicion of Mr. Bespectacled James Bond-Wannabe stalking her. She sat on the edge of her bed, adjusting the volume to a level only she could hear, and pressed the Play option.

"Is it on?" Preston's voice rang out, though it didn't seem that it was part of the message. Sturges answered in the background, "Yep, it's rolling." She giggled at how clueless Preston was. It was kind of adorable.

Preston cleared his throat before he started speaking, "Good day, General. This is Preston Garvey of the Commonwealth Minutemen, reporting for duty-" but he was suddenly cut off by Sturges.

"Uh, Preston, that holotape can't store your _usual speeches_ so I'd rather you go straight to the point."

"Oh," Preston replied upon the realization. Amelia giggled again during his short pause.

The next part was straight business, "General, our provisioner has caught word of your presence in Diamond City, so I had this delivered to pass my reports. Sturges was able to fix a recorder and plugged it in our terminal here. This recorded message is solid proof. I also used it to recruit volunteers for our next step: reclaiming the Castle."

It took her by surprise. It had always been his dream. The first big step for the Commonwealth to know that the Minutemen are back. He was serious.

"I've sent holotapes to our settlements through our provisioners, and to some of my old friends too. By the time you're listening to this, I'm already on my way to the rendezvous point with the volunteers I've rounded up here in the north. Along this tape is a map. The route I drew will be the same route my squad will take, so rest assured that by the time you catch up, it'll be safe for travelling."

The map was spread wide on the surface of her bed. She appreciated and trusted the long jagged line Preston drew in red.

"I know you're there for your son, and believe me, I'd like to be the last person to spoil your plans but... duty calls. We're doing this for the good of the people of Commonwealth. That includes you and your son. We'll be waiting for you there. See you soon, General. Stay safe out there." then it was ended by a beep.

Amelia refolded the map, placing the ejected holotape above it as paperweight, and sank on the bed. How was she going to wing this? Her mercenary’s injured and would definitely need a long time to recover. Not to mention the guilt she had currently adopted as she was uncertain of MacCready’s fate. She couldn't bear travelling alone yet, no matter how Preston assured her of the route's safety. Not that she didn't trust him. It was just the fear every wastelander had for their entire lives. The fear of any hostile creature jumping on them without any fair warning. The fear of getting killed, expecting it but still having them surprised. The fear of passing the rare opportunity to die out of old age.

No one to watch her back this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be released within this week (since I promised two updates per week) but if ever I don't... then next week. Sorry in advance, if ever. But yeah, tell me your thoughts about this chapter!


End file.
